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LIBRARY 

THE  WILMER  COLLECTION 

OF  CIVIL  WAR  NOVELS 

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RICHARD  H.  WILMER,  JR. 

jVlLMEft  COLLECIU 


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John  Holden,  Unionist, 


A  Romance  of  the  Days  of  Destruction 
and    Reconstruction 


T.     C.     DE  LEON 


AUTHOR   OF 


"yUNY,    OR    ONLY    ONE    OCTOROON'S    STORY,"     "FOUR    YEARS    IN 

REBEL    CAPITALS,"    "CREOLE   AND    PURITAN," 

"the   puritan's    DAUGHTER," 

ETC. 


IN     COLLABORATION     WITH     ERWIN     LEDYARD 


ILLUSTRATED 


ST.   PAUL 

The  Price-McGill  Company 

455-473   CEDAR   STREET 


\^'V) 


Copyrighted    1893 

BY 

THE  PRlCE-McGILL  CO. 


PRINTED    AND    PLATED    BY 

THE  PRICE-McGILL  COMPANY 

ST.    PAUL     MINN. 


In  'Memory  of 
THAT  DEAD  PAST 
Whose  Children  were  Sword  and  Fire;    Whose  living-  Prog- 
eny are  present  Peace  and  future  Hope,  these  pages 

WERE   WRITTEN. 


602808 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


"Well  done,  sir! "        -         --..--        Frontispiece 
"That  be'nt  no  use! "      -------         Page    33 

''Ritn,  my  man!     Run  fur  yer  life ! "  -        -        -        -        "        53 

"  Lize,  ar' he  plum  gone  ? "  -         -  -         -        -  "97 

"Hush!  — His  wife!"        -        -        -        .         .         .        .        "      113 

"  Cursid  be  j-^er! "  -        -        -        -         -  -        .        -    "      145 

Taking  the  bridle  himself,  he  strode  carefulh^  away,  "      177 

"Now,  Mr.  Storekeeper,  what  are  your  proofs  against 

this  spy?" -        -        "      225 

It  was  a  noteworthy  couple,        -----  "      273 

"  Them  ez  ther  Lord  hezjined  —  no  man  shell  hinder !  "         "      321 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I— On  the  Deserters'  Trail, 11 

II— A  Latter-Day  Tory, 22 

III— Father  and  Son, 37 

IV— Hunting  the  Big  Game, 46 

V — A  Mountain  Daisj', 58 

VI— The  Shot  in  the  Dark,     ----...  73 

VII— In  the  Outlaw's  Nest, 84 

VIII— Widowed! 99 

IX— A  Misadventure, -  109 

X — Convalescent  Symptoms,       - 124 

XI — Over  the  Hills  and  Far  Away!    -----  140 

XII— A  Night's  Surprises, 153 

XIII— A  Ruse  and  its  Result,         - 165 

XIV— In  Southern  Woman's  Way, 173 

XV— The  Captured  War  Horse, 188 

XVI— Into  the  Jaws  of  Death, 199 

XVII— Parting, -  209 

XVIII — An  Interrupted  Lynching,      ------  217 

XIX— Woman  and  Girl, 234 

XX — Reconstruction  Days,      - 248 

XXI — Charges  and  Confession,    - 259 

XXII— "A  Knot  of  Ribbon  Blue," 275 

XXIII— A  President,  by  Pistol-shot, 285 

XIV— After  Long  Years, 297 

XXV— A  Sudden  Coup, 312 

XXVI— "Hank  hezther  Right!" 327 


SOME  WORDS  PREFATORY. 

In  writinj^  that  series  of  Tales  of  the  Border,  during  the 
late  war  between  the  states, — of  which  Creole  and  Puritan, 
its  sequel.  The  Puritan's  Daughter,  and  A  Fair  Blockade 
Breaker  are  a  part,  I  have  often  been  tempted  toward  a 
wholl}' new  and  untrodden  field  that  lay  near;  and  one 
promising  rich  reward  to  the  gleaning  by  the  proper  and 
fearless  hand. 

But  to  work  that  field  demanded  more  scope  and  space 
than  the  limits  of  a  minor  modern  novel  afibrds;  and  the 
harvest — such  as  it  might  be— has  been  again  and  again 
delayed  ;  until  the  desire  for  its  experiment  grew  so  domi- 
nant as  to  push  aside  all  engagement  for,  or  profit  from, 
the  smaller  crop;  and  to  force  the  essay  of  the  present. 

In  the  wild  and  almost  inaccessible  mountain  fastnesses  of 
the  three  tangent  states — Georgia,  Alabama  and  Ten- 
nessee— lurked  in  hiding  an  irregular  array  of  "bush- 
whackers," deserters  from  the  Southern  army,  and  strag- 
gling skulkers  from  Union  raids.  Totally  unorganized,  3'et 
banded  together  in  some  sort  for  purposes  of  self-protection, 
of  plunder,  or  of  nameless  deeds  of  deviltry — these  outlaws 
terrorized  all  non-combatants  left  at  home,  and  often 
proved  no  contemptible  opponents  for  the  regular  army 
raiders  sent  to  capture,  destroy,  or  drive  them  out.  Agile, 
alert,  desperate,  and  hopeless  of  mercy,  they  were  equally 
cruel  to  the  unresisting,  and  fearless  of  the  armed  lorces 
sent  for  their  protection. 

Another  outgrowth  of  the  war — glibly  mentioned  as 
Loyalists,  Unionists,  or  Scalawags,  at  the  North — are 
equally  misunderstood  beyond  the  borders  of  the  then  con- 
federated South.  Some  of  these  were  men  of  means,  educa- 
tion, and  good  social  standing;  original  "Union-men," 
from  principle  or  reason,  and  anti-secessionists  who  had 
been  submerged  b}'  the  resistless  flood  of  popular  opinion 
about  them.  Others  were  the  long  time  bitter  opponents 
of  the  democratic  party  of  their  sections;  alwaAS  in  the 
minority,  3'et  grimly  tenacious  of  their  rights  and   princi- 


Vlll  PREFACE. 

pies.  Others  again  were  "loyal  "  from  the  lower  motives 
of  personal  safety,  or  of  temporary  profit ;  but  these  last 
••jvere  chary  of  open  expression  and  carried  water — of  the 
bilge  description — upon  both  shoulders,  on  occasion. 

Both  of  these  products  of  the  war  time  are  equally- 
unknown  to  the  general  reader  of  to-day,  at  the  South  as 
well  as  at  the  North — the  very  nominis  umbrse.  The  busy 
rush  of  action  during  hostilities— the  struggle  for  bare 
bread  immediately  after  their  close — prevented  record  by 
those  who  were  near  enough  to  study  either  species;  and 
the  automatic  Chinese  wall,  reared  about  the  belligerent 
South,  shut  out  the  most  curious  gaze  of  the  real  thinkers 
beyond  it.  And,  therefore,  I  have  endeavored  to  portray 
the  Southern  Unionist  from  principle,  of  the  average  type; 
the  man  who  believed  he  was  right  and,  so  believing, 
became  the  fanatic  through  pressure  of  the  very  animosi- 
ties and  trials,  that  his  moral  isolation  itself  forced  upon 
him. 

John  Hoeden  is  a  concreted  portrait;  a  composition  of 
many  features  that  came  under  my  observation  during  the 
war.  I  have  hope  that  he  will  be  recognized  as  such,  in 
more  localities  than  the  one  in  which  he  is  here  ibund 
placed.  His  son.  Hank,  is  more  directly  the  work  of  the 
camera.  The  incident  of  his  eluding  capture  by  the  scout- 
ing squad,  is  a  real  one;  as  is  that  of  the  log-hut  dance, 
where  his  father  shoots  his  supposed  hunter.  As  for  the 
"bushwhackers,"'  they  are  in  no  line  overdrawn.  With 
them  I  owe  recognition  to  appreciated  assistance  from 
Captain  Erwin  Ledyard,  an  Alabamian  of  good  old  Ten- 
nessee stock,  who  served  in  Sand  Mountain  camps  and 
scouts,  after  bringing  three  leaden  souvenirs  of  Malvern 
Hill  back  to  his  own  state. 

Several  oftlie  other  characters  of  this  romance  are  actual 
photographs  from  life,  as  those  who  knew  General  Forrest, 
Pi-esident  "Andj"  Johnson,  or  Judge  Joseph  Holt,  will 
avouch.  In  man}'  instances,  their  very  words  are  used; 
and  the  interview  with  the  president,  while  in  no  sense 
verbatim,  reflects  with  absolute  accuracy  his  views  upon 
"Reconstruction"  and  the  proper  course  for  the  Southern 
States  to  pursue;  and  especially  his  own  estimate  of  his 
attitude  toward  congress,  as  expressed  personally  to  me  in 
his  own  ofliice. 

My  heroines— if  such  they  be— are  not  drawn  from  the 
silk  clad  simperers  of  the  society  novelist's  models.  They 
are  photographs,  if  unnamed  ones,  of  women  produced  by 
a   "storm-and-stress"   period     unmatched   in  histor\' ;    a 


PREFACE.  IX 

period  that  made  courage,  daring,  endurance  and  self-sacri- 
fice almost  cheap,  through  their  irequent  finding  under  the 
young  girl's  bodice.  If  I  have  thrown  the  glamour  of 
romance  about  one  great  act  of  Aliss  Emma  Sanson,  no 
addition  was  needed  to  illuminate  the  daring  of  her  deed. 
That  eighteen-3'ear  mountain  girl  sat  calmly  behind 
Forrest's  saddle,  piloting  him  across  the  swollen  ford  of 
Black  Creek,  under  the  galling  fire  of  Streight's  sharp- 
shooters. Not  even  comment  is  needed  upon  her  coolness 
and  courage  on  that  occasion,  now  passed  coldly  into 
history. 

Neither  have  I  overdrawn  the  seething  ferment  of  social 
and  political  Washington  in  days  near  succedent  to  the 
war;  nor  the  close  reaction  of  the  social  or  the  business 
relation  upon  the  political.  Reared  and  educated  at  the 
capital,  familiar  with  it  in  various  aspects  since  —  I  have 
never  seen  there  days  so  uncertain,  so  illogical,  or  so  filled 
with  smoldering  of  the  dangerous  fires  of  suspicion  or  of 
hate. 

The  sole  aim  of  this  novel  is  to  place  before  its  reader  a 
plain  picture  of  the  time  embraced  by  it;  to  "nothing 
extenuate,  nor  set  down  aught  in  malice."  It  was  a  period 
replete  with  doubt,  suspicion  and  danger;  but  it  was 
■equalh^  full  of  heroism,  grandeur  and  romance. 

Finall  ,  more  meo,  I  have  sought  to  avoid  manufactur- 
ing demi-gods  out  of  the  Southern — devils  out  of  the 
Northern — characters  of  my  story.  I  have  tried  to  write 
of  both,  as  I  did  in  my  more  serious  work.  Four  Years  in 
Rebel  Capitals,  which  received  its  highest  meed  from 
Northern  sources;  believing,  as  I  doconscientiously,  that  a 
common  race,  with  common  ambitions  inborn  and  devel- 
oped by  common  educational  systems,  must  effect  much 
the  same  results,  under  similar  circumstances.  For  there 
is  more  of  philosoph\'  than  of  sentiment  in  the  words,  now 
axiomatic,  of  the  great  Englishman:  "Good  in  all,  and 
none  all-good !  " 

THE  AUTHOR. 
Mobile,  Ala.,  February,  1893. 


JOHN   HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ox    THE   deserters'   TRAIL. 

Evening  fell  upon  the  mountain,  dreary,  damp  and 
dim,  with  that  chill  in  the  air  not  infrequent,  even  in 
summer,  on  the  southern  spurs  of  the  great  Cumber- 
land Range,  when  "the  cloud  is  down  upon  the 
mountain,"  as  the  "covites"  of  those  localities 
express  it. 

All  that  day  long,  a  small  and  measurably  dingy 
column  of  cavalr\' — or,  as  Lord  Wolseley  would  have 
called  them,  mounted  infantrj' — had  plodded  wearily 
around  the  steep  and  ragged  curves  of  road,  ascend- 
ing Sand  Mountain,  in  North  Alabama.  Its  object- 
ive point  was  the  county  seat  of  DeKalb  county, 
which  its  commander  had  calculated  upon  reaching 
by  nightfall ;  but,  in  mountain  marches,  man  pro- 
poses, often  to  find  that  God  disposes  differently.  In 
this  case  Captain  Shelby  had  found  the  roads  execra- 
ble, loose,  rutted  and  offering  but  insecure  footing  to 
his  not  too  sure-footed  mounts,  from  the  lowlands. 
Besides,  two  wide  detours  from  the  direct  route  had 


12  JOHN    HOLDEN.    UNIONIST. 

consumed  valuable  time;  for  this  column  was  always 
making  detours.  Two  wrecks  before,  it  had  left  Gads- 
den with  orders  to  scout  carefully  through  every  por- 
tion of  the  Sand  Mountain  region;  and  to  arrest 
every  deserter  and  outlying  conscript  possible  to 
find.  If  the  deserters  could  not  be  caught  —  and 
those  gentry  often  proved  as  slippery  as  eels  in  those 
days, — then  it  w^as  hoped  that  the  column  could  suc- 
ceed in  driving  them  across  the  Tennessee  river,  into 
the  Federal  lines;  thus  relieving  the  residents,  who 
were  loyal  to  the  Southern  flag,  from  their  frequent 
threats  and  still  more  constant  depredations. 

The  deserter  from  the  Southern  army  in  those  days 
partook  largely  of  the  nature  and  attributes  of  the 
latter-day  tramp.  He  left  his  command  carrying  a 
hunger  equal  to  that  of  Gargantua ;  and  this  grew 
apace  as  he  lay  in  hiding  in  the  woods  and  mountain 
gorges  of  the  three  tangent  states,  Alabama,  Georgia 
and  Tennessee.  His  code  of  ethics,  moreover,  was 
flexible  enough  to  permit  of  wade-stretching  con- 
struction as  to  the  modes  of  gratifying  his  appetite, 
and  as  to  differentiation  of  meum  and  tuum.  Know- 
ing that  w^ild  country  thoroughly;  agile,  shrewd, 
desperate ;  and  replacing  true  courage  by  keen  cun- 
ning and  cruelty  to  the  weak, — the  skulker  was  ever 
hard  to  trap.  So,  w^hile  this  cavalry  column's  quest 
had  shown  no  very  large  "bag"  of  its  human  game, 
it  had  already  had  plenty  of  hunting,  and  was  pretty 
well  tired  of  the  chase. 

Now,  as  it  halted  on  the  crest  of  a  tall  spur,  over- 
looking a  long,  narrow  and  deep-cupped  stretch  of 
cove, — as  the    mountaineers    call  those   patches  of 


il 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  13 

more  level  vallej^  ever  recurrent, — the  outlook  was 
not  most  cheering  to  the  prosaic  view  of  the  tired 
trooper,  however  picturesque,  as  a  study  in  grays,  it 
might  have  proved  to  the  eye  of  the  artist. 

Dipping  in  abrupt  descent,  stretched  away  the  pre- 
cipitous sides  of  the  mountain,  as  though  to  bathe 
its  rugged  feet  in  the  curving  w^ater-courses  far 
below.  These,  wholly  invisible  through  their  screen 
of  heavy  woods,  might  yet  be  plainh' traced  by  rising 
patches  of  white  mist,  dense  and  clearly  outlined 
against  the  deep  shadows  of  green,  yet  lifting  smoke- 
like above  the  tree  tops  and  floating  in  masses  of 
carded  wool.  Further  off  still,  loomed  heav\'  cumuli 
of  dense  black  cloud,  resting  low"  enough  to  blend 
wnth  the  dim  shadow  of  distant  woods,  while  lighter 
clouds,  advancing  like  skirmishers,  scudded  swiftly 
across  the  heavens  overhead — advance  of  the  storm 
forces  embrasured  in  the  gloomy  west.  Dead  still- 
ness hung  over  the  scene,  broken  only  b}'  irregular 
plash  of  moisture,  as  it  condensed  and  dripped  from 
leaf  and  bough.  Far  as  eye  might  reach,  not  one 
glimmer  of  lamp  or  fire  pierced  the  fast-falling  gloom, 
to  hint  of  habitation  or  of  shelter. 

At  the  head  ot  the  halted  cavalry  column  sat  two 
figures,  advanced  be\'ond  the  rest,  but  bearing  no 
rank  marks  on  their  well-worn  fatigue  jackets.  One 
was  a  bluff,  jovial  faced  man  of  perhaps  thirty  years, 
his  sturdy",  erect  frame  and  the  commandful  glance  of 
his  blue  eyes  alone  marking  him  from  the  rest;  for 
his  untrimmed  hair  and  beard,  no  less  than  his  red- 
rusty  boots,  evidenced  the  passage  of  many  weeks 
since  Captain  Tennant  Shelby  had  bestowed  much 


14  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

time  upon  personal  adornment.  His  companion, 
taller,  slighter,  less  tanned  and  far  more  jaunty  in 
manner  as  well  as  uniform,  could  not  have  passed  his 
majority  many  months ;  his  slight,  brown  mustache 
curving  into  that  careful  twist  which  speaks  the  fre- 
quency of  prideful  caress  in  early  manhood.  Lieu- 
tenant Beverly  Latham  was  a  truant,  although  one 
slight  wound  had  already  helped  him  to  celebrate  his 
self-given  holiday.  He  had  left  the  famed  Virginia 
Military  Institute  two  years  before  to  follow  the 
drum,  which  good  fortune  had  combined  with  his 
horse-love  and  natural  tastes  to  exchange  for  the 
bugle.  From  good  old  stock  of  the  Old  Dominion ; 
petted  at  home,  as  only  the  only  son  may  be  by  elder 
sisters;  popular  and  bright  among  his  classmates, 
while  more  quick  than  studious ;  devoted  to  pleasure 
and  "the  German,"— the  young  soldier  had  still 
proved  that  there  was  good  stuff  in  him ;  and,  while 
scarce  fit  for  active  service  after  his  wound,  his  trans- 
fer and  promotion  had  come  together,  bringing  him 
into  General  Forrest's  command. 

"You'll  catch  your  troop  yet,  Bev.,"  Shelby,  his 
new  captain,  had  said  to  him  at  the  camp-fire,  after 
a  hot  skirmish  ;  adding  in  extenuation  of  prophecy, 
"Unless  a  minie  ball  catches  you  first!" 

And  now  it  was  the  junior  who  first  broke  the 
silence,  as  both  men  peered  earnestly  up  the 
unpromising  and  fast  darkening  ascent. 

"See  here,  captain,"  he  queried,  cheerily,  "how 
much  further  do  you  suppose  it  is  to  that  blessed 
town,  where  we  may  count  upon  a  feast  of  ancient 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST,  15 

chicken,  leathery  dumpling  and  second-hand  corn 
dodger?" 

"Something  like  nine  mile,  I  guess,"  the  senior 
answered ;  and  with  his  words  came  a  close,  rattling 
peal  of  thunder,  seemingly  at  their  very  ears,  as 
mountain  claps  often  sound.  Next  instant,  the  dense 
cloud  was  shorn  clear  across  by  a  flash  of  ragged 
lightning,  of  such  vivid  yellow  as  to  blind  man  and 
beast  alike. 

Latham's  horse  reared  upright,  coming  down  per- 
ilously close  to  the  brink  of  the  chasm,  yawning  black 
below.  But  the  practiced  hand  held  him  in  easy  con- 
trol, and  he  stood  panting  and  trembling,  but  still. 

Shelby  backed  his  beast  a  step  or  two,  as  he  said 
shortly : 

"Pretty  close,  that!  It's  growing  dark,  too." 

"Yes,"  Lathan  replied,  patting  his  horse's  neck; 
"Night  has  'drawn  her  sable  mantle  round;'  but,  if 
she  have  really  '  pinned  it  with  a  star, '  she  carefully 
conceals  that  jewel  from  any  marauder's  eye.  It 
promises  a  nasty  night,  Cap.,  and  not  far  off, 
either." 

For  sole  reply,  Shelby  gathered  his  horse  and 
ranged  to  the  column  head,  with  the  brief  order: 
"Squad,  'tention  !  To  the  right,  by  twos — March !  " 
And  promptly  the  silence  w^as  broken  by  regular  beat 
of  heavy  hoof  and  the  rattle  of  arms,  as  the  thick- 
skirting  undergrowth  caught  the  troopers,  moving 
in  double  file. 

"Are  there  any  fords,  or  broken  bridges  between 
here  and  the  town?  "the  lieutenant  asked,  as  they 
again  caught  the  dimly-seen  trail. 


16  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

"I  believe  so ;  but  to  tell  the  truth,  Bev.,  it  is  a  long^ 
time  since  I  passed  over  this  road,  and  not  one  of  my 
men  knows  anything  about  it." 

"Then  call  me  into  council  of  war,  Cap.,  and  I'll 
suggest  to  send  a  scout  for  some  place  nearer,  where 
we  can  spend  the  night  and  make  up  time  after  day- 
light. I  have  a  foolish  objection  to  breaking  my 
neck  in  a  North  Alabama  mountain,  after  being  shot 
in  Virginia." 

In  answer  to  this  flippant  philosophy  came  the 
slow  patter  of  great  drops  upon  the  leaves,  rapidly 
increasing  to  a  stead\'  rain,  while  the  lower  descend- 
ing clouds  sent  out  their  menace  in  dull,  rumbling 
peals. 

"You're  right,  Bev.,"  the  captain  answered ;  "tho' 
I  don't  think  3'ou  were  born  to  have  your  neck 
broken — that  way.  Corporal  Haber.sham,"  he 
ordered,  turning  in  saddle,  "dismount  and  scout  the 
path  ahead  for  some  crossing  wagon  road.  We  may 
find  one  leading  to  some  sort  of  farm,  or  charcoal 
kiln,"  he  added  to  Latham,  as  the  trooper  threw  his 
bridle  to  his  fellow,  slung  out  of  saddle  and  strode 
sturdily  ahead,  the  mounted  men  following  at  slowest 
walk  of  their  jaded  beasts. 

Suddenly  both  officers'  horses  halted,  with  an 
abrupt,  jolting  jerk,  planting  their  forefeet  and  snort- 
ing with  fear,  as  they  stretched  tense  necks  toward 
the  dense  growth  skirting  the  right  of  the  path. 
Simultaneously  a  vivid  flash  lit  the  mountain  side 
into  lurid  distinctness.  Simultaneously,  too,  both 
officers  uttered  suppressed  exclamations,  and 
Latham's  right  hand  went  instinctively  to  the  holster 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  17 

on  his  hip ;  but  Shelby's  firm  hand  touched  his  left 
arm,  as  it  pointed  into  the  wood.  Then  all  was 
jetty  darkness  again,  and  dead  stillness,  broken  only 
by  the  click  of  two  revolver  locks. 

"Don't  shoot!  "  the  captain  whispered.  "It  maj^ 
not  be  a  man.     Wait  for  the  next  flash." 

"Did you  see  him,  too?  "  Latham  \vhispered  back. 

"I  saw  a  tall,  white  figure  by  that  jagged  chestnut- 
oak  ahead,"  the  senior  replied,  in  the  same  tone.  "It 
hardly  seemed  a  man;  more  like  a  ghost !  " 

"Or  a  woman,"  Latham  retorted.  "Men  don't 
wear  white  clothes  in  these  parts ;  and  any  reputable 
ghost  v^ould  keep  indoors  such  a  night !  " 

"Right;  keep  the  spot  covered,"  was  the  reply. 
"We'll  halt  and  question  her  on  the  next  flash." 

*' Bless  the  sex !"  Latham  whispered,  gaily.  "  This 
wandering  Venus  can  have  m}^  waterproof,  if  she'll 
only  direct  us  to  com  pone  and  supper.  See!  " — He 
interrupted  himself  as  another  flash  came. 

The  point  which  both  pistols  covered  was  empty 
but,  forty  yards  awa}-  from  the  chestnut-oak,  a  white, 
ghostly-gleaming  figure  flitted  across  the  road,  only 
to  be  lost  in  the  deeper  darkness  quick  succeeding. 

"Halt!  Who  goes  there?"  The  corporal's  gruff 
challenge  rang  out  ahead,  as  his  carbine  rattled  to  a 
ready ;  but  only  patter  of  the  rain  came  for  an  answer, 
as  the  cautious  stepping  horses  closed  on  the  dis- 
mounted scout. 

"  What  was  it,  corporal  ?  " 

"Blest  if  I  know!  Cap'n.  It  seemed  either  a 
woman,  or  a — " 

2 


18  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

"Not  a  ghost!"  Latham  broke  in.  "It  was  a 
female  angel,  in  mountaineer  form!  Wherever 
-woman  is,  the  kitchen  must  be  near ;  and  I  am  as 
hungry  as  a  wolf!  " 

"Which  way?"  queried  the  commander,  shortly. 

"  Crossed  to  the  left,  a  little  ahead,  sir,"  the  soldier 
answered. 

"Forward!"  was  the  command;  and  a  hundred 
paces  brought  the  party  to  what  had  been  a  broad 
wagon  track,  now  half  overgrown  w^ith  scrub,  from 
long  disuse.  The  scout  remounted,  the  column 
turned  to  the  left,  moving  very  slowly  and  cautiously 
over  the  rough  road,  alter  each  flash  of  lightning. 
But  the  irrepressible  spirits  of  the  lieutenant  rose  at 
the  prospect  of  possible  supper;  and  he  quoted  gaily 
and  glibly  :  'Honor  to  woman!  To  her  it  is  given 
to  garland  dull  earth  with  the  roses  of  heaven ! '  But 
should  she  lack  the  roses.  Cap.,  we'll  take  commu- 
tation in  kind,  in  corn  pone  and  bacon,  and  swear 
that  they  '  have  been  near  the  rose ; '  eh  ?  " 

"Look!  There  it  is  again!  "the  captain  interrupted 
suddenly,  pointing  straight  ahead,  as  the  glare  of  a 
long-lived  flash  lit  up  unusual  distance.  And,  on  the 
very  verge  of  the  shadow,  the  tall  white  figure  flitted 
swiftly  across  the  cleared  space;  disappearing  into 
the  brush  even  before  the  gleam  died  into  inky  night 
once  more. 

"A  woman,  without  doubt,"  the  senior  said. 

"Right  you  are,  Cap.,"  his  junior  answered.  "I 
am  no  Don  Juan  myself,  but  there's  no  mistake  this 
time.  Shade  of  Epicurus !  but  I  hope  she  has  been 
out  foraging.    No  other  excuse  would  warrant  her 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  19 

being  out  in  such  weather.  May  the  gods  of  appetite 
and  'of  love  combine  to  bring  us  to  her  more,  or  less, 
hospitable  board !" 

"It  cannot  be  very  far,"  the  older  campaigner 
answered.  "Even  a  mountain  woman  would  not 
risk  a  long  tramp  in  such  a  storm.  Close  up,  men ! 
Forward!" 

Still  slowdj^  —  still  moving  carefully  through  the 
tough  low  growth — ^the  column  advanced  along  the 
now  curving  wa}- ;  halting  without  command,  when 
the  flashes  were  long  intervaled.  At  last  the  cleared 
path  entered  a  straight  reach ;  and  suddenly  Latham 
cried : 

"Look!  Ha!  the  roses  at  last!  I  smell  them 
through  the  storm." 

He  pointed  ahead  as  he  spoke.  For  an  instant  a 
tall  red  gleam,  as  of  an  opening  door,  showed  human 
habitation  probable.  But,  even  with  his  words,  the 
gleam  disappeared  and  all  was  black  again.  A  hun- 
dred yards  further  brought  them  into  a  wider  clear- 
ing; the  uncertain  lightning  showing  what  might  be 
fields,  but  fenceless  and  bare.  A  single  tall  chimney 
pointed  to  heaven,  like  an  abandoned  lighthouse; 
and  round  it  lay  what  might  be  debris  of  a  burned 
farm-house.  Still  beyond,  the  next  flash  showed  the 
wearied  men  a  low,  rough  log-house,  flanked  by  a 
shed-stable,  probable  outbuildings  of  the  missing 
mansion.  But  not  one  gleam  of  light  showed  any- 
where; and  the  dead  stillness,  as  the  column  halted, 
was  broken  only  by  the  rattle  and  tramp  of  their 
own  movement.  No  voice  of  man  or  of  beast  wel- 
comed the  wayfarers  to  hoped-for  rest. 


20  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

"Let  me  reconnoiter,  Cap.,"  Latham  volunteered. 
"  There  in  ay  be  sleepers  in  the  cabin." 

"Take  the  sergeant  and  two  men,"  ordered  the 
more  cautious  senior.  "There  may  be  bushwhackers 
in  the  shed,  too.  Squad, 'tention!  Unsling  carbines  I 
Lieutenant  Latham,  you  and  your  men  lie  down,  if 
fired  on !  Men,  if  there  is  any  shooting  from  the 
houses,  fire  at  the  flash !  Now^,  sir,  forward  and 
reconnoiter!  " 

As  the  lightning  show^ed,  Latham  took  his  bear- 
ings, dismounted  and  advanced  on  foot,  followed  by 
two  dismounted  troopers.  All  was  still  and  black  as 
the\'  reached  the  log  house,  and  the  rain  descended 
now  in  almost  blinding  sheets.  To  his  cheery-  hail 
the  officer  received  no  response,  and  he  rapped  sharply 
on  the  door  with  the  butt  of  his  pistol.  Still  no 
answer  came;  and,  growing  impatient,  he  fumbled 
for  the  latch,  onU^  to  find  that  its  yielding  showed 
the  door  barred  within.  Again  he  rapped  ;  this  time 
louder  and  somewhat  angrily,  as  he  called : 

"Open  the  door!  Open,  I  say!  in  the  name  of  the 
Confederate  States !" 

No  sound  came  from  the  house ;  and  the  now  irate 
cavalryman  drew  back  to  kick  against  the  door, 
when  there  came  the  creak  of  rusty  iron  to  his  ear 
from  the  side  of  the  cabin.  Turning  quickly  at  the 
sound,  Latham  caught  the  faint  gleam  of  a  light,  as 
though  a  shutter  had  opened.  If  so,  it  had  been  as 
quickly  closed,  for  the  supposed  glimmer  had  disap- 
peared, and  all  was  still. 

"Force  the  door,  men!"  he  ordered;  and  the  not 
unwilling  troopers  threw  heawj  shoulders  against 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  21 

the  planks,  that  shook  but  did  not  yield.  But  the 
menace  brought  voice  to  the  inmate  at  last;  for  a 
deep,  resonant  call  came  from  within : 

"Hold  on,  thar !  Who  be  ye,  raidin'  a  home  at  this 
yower?  " 

"Friends !  "  replied  Latham.   "  Open  andlet usin ! " 


CHAPTER  IT. 

A  LATTER   DAY  TORY. 

The  gay  lieutenant's  laughing  philosophy  had 
struck  the  truth.  It  was  no  ghost  that  had  startled 
their  horses  on  the  mountain  side,  but  a  real  woman, 
of  as  much  flesh  and  blood  as  mountain  motherhood, 
wearing  anxiety  and  scant  fare  had  left  to  her  share. 
Tall,  gaunt,  and  rawboned,  she  seemed  wholly  care- 
less of  the  storm,  although  her  rain-soaked  clothing 
of  coarsest  homespun  clung  to  the  thin  limbs,  and  a 
steady  rill  poured  from  the  faded  shawl  drawn  over 
her  head,  its  sole  protection  from  the  storm. 

But,  crouched  close  against  the  huge  trunk  of  a 
spreading  chestnut-oak,  the  woman  recked  little  of 
the  w^arring  elements  without ;  for  those  within  were 
in  fierce  struggle,  judged  from  their  flitting  across  her 
face,  as  it  showed  in  the  transient  gleams  of  light- 
ning. It  was  a  strong  face ;  and  had  perhaps  been  a 
pretty  one,  too ;  but  the  fingers  of  Time  and  of  Care 
had  passed  their  acid  sponges  over  it  long  ago ;  and 
now  its  parchment — like  that  of  the  palimpsest — 
showed  onl^"-  deep  lines,  etched  by  the  mordant  of 
suffering,  that  furrowed  and  hardened  it  into  prema- 
ture age.  But,  beneath  the  unkempt  yellow  hair  and 
the  sparse,   whitish  eyebrows,  a  pair  of  green-blue 

22 


JOHN     HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  23 

eyes  literally  blazed  out  above  the  sunken  cheeks  and 
the  pinched  lips,  giving  strong,  if  weird,  character  to 
the  face. 

And  those  eyes  never  left  the  column  of  cavalry  as 
it  toiled  along  the  rough  roadway ;  the  woman 
moving  in  advance  of  it,  cautious,  noiseless,  tena- 
cious as  a  Fate.  But  that  she  was  wholly  human, 
and  no  Will-o'-th'-Wisp  leading  them  to  destruction, 
the  vivid  play  of  emotions  over  her  face  plainly 
showed.  Cunning  and  fear,  hate  and  eager  curiosity 
were  there,  all  dominated  bv  vearning  anxietv. 
When  the  column  had  halted,  just  before  the  storm, 
this  woman's  ej'cs  had  burned  dowm  on  them  in 
fierce  scrutiny  from  the  vantage  of  a  higher  ledge  of 
rock. 

" Tha's  Johnnies,  sho'ly,"  she  muttered  to  herself 
"Ef  tha'snot  ther  same  lot,  et's  sum  critter  cump'ny 
a-huntin'  my  man!  The're  doan  be  no  differ— 
a-huntin'  Hank  all  th'  same!  " 

When  the  line  took  up  its  march  again,  this  strange 
spy  lay  in  hiding  until  its  advance  had  almost 
reached  her  covert ;  then  gliding  a  little  beyond  it, 
alert,  noiseless  and  sure  of  foot,  but  wholly  heedless 
of  darkness  and  of  storm. 

At  the  halt,  the  click  of  pistols  told  the  woman  that 
the  lightning  had  betrayed  her;  and,  drawing  the 
drenched  shawl  closer  about  her  head,  she  plunged 
deeper  into  the  thicket,  unmindful  of  the  shots  likely 
to  follow  her.  Cutting  off  the  detour,  she  raced 
through  the  gloom  of  w^oods ;  and  was  running  across 
the  wagfon   track  into  the    clearing    bevond   when 


24  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

Latham  caught  the  second  glimpse  of  his  "Mountain 
Venus,"  and  apostrophized  her  in  Schiller's  words. 

As  she  sped  on,  cunning  and  experience  alike  told 
the  woman  that  the  troopers  must  stick  to  the 
unknown  roadway,  and  await  the  flashes,  while  she 
crossed  the  disused  field  and  reached  the  house.  Open- 
ing the  door  scarce  wide  enough  to  admit  her  slim 
form,  she  slammed  and  bolted  it;  placed  her  back 
against  it  and,  swishing  her  drenched  shawl  to  the 
floor,  panted  out : 

"  Tha's  a-cummin',  paw !  I  spied  th'  critter  cump'- 
ny !    Et's  in  th'  road  now — a-cummin'  fur  Hank !  " 

A  glowing  bed  of  coals  on  the  rude  hearth  cast 
weird  shadows  about  the  rough  room,  both  of  its 
sashless  windows  being  closed  with  heavy  shutters. 
Two  rough  bunks  and  a  long  plank  dresser  occupied 
the  sides  of  the  apartment,  its  furniture  completed  by 
aheap  of  brush  fire-wood,  and  sawed-ofif  logs  to 
replace  missing  chairs.  From  one  of  these  the  sole 
occupant  rose  to  face  the  woman;  and,  standing  in 
the  red  light  of  the  coals,  he  had  proved  fit  model  for 
Dore,  in  his  stronger  mood. 

Tall,  rawboned  and  angular,  the  figure  still  showed 
signs  of  uncommon  strength,  strongly  emphasized  by 
the  lean,  muscular  arms,  bare  to  the  elbow,  and  the 
great  brown,  knotted  hands  that  terminated  them. 
As  he  rose  erect,  the  man  towered  far  above  the 
usual  height  even  of  mountaineers,  spite  of  a  stoop 
of  shoulders  that  sent  forward,  in  eager-seeming 
quest,  the  large  square  topped  and  grizzled  head. 
The  coarse  blue  jeans  shirt,  open  at  the  neck,  showed 
the  brawny  and  hirsute  chest ;  while  the  long,  lithe 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  25 

legs  were  firm  set  and  strong,  as  he  stood.  The 
man's  face  would  have  been  a  marked  one  in  any  con- 
gregation of  types.  The  broad,  retreating  forehead, 
with  long,  grizzled  locks  on  either  side,  was  beetled 
with  shaggy,  gray  eyebrows.  Beneath  them,  out  of 
the  shadows  of  abroad  based,  aquiline  nose,  gleamed 
a  pair  of  very  deep-set  eyes,  greenish  hued,  as  were 
the  woman's,  but  with  a  red  glare  in  them  which 
^dded  a  singular  power  to  his  glance.  Very  long  and 
thin,  but  square  and  firm  set,  jaws  terminated  in  ears 
of  unusual  size,  bristling  with  hair  coarse  as  that  of 
the  wild  boar;  but  the  whole  face  was  beardless, 
showing  the  close,  straight  set  of  lips  that  might  be 
gentle  or  cruel,  as  either  mood  swayed  the  man. 

Prompth'  and  firmly  as  he  rose  to  his  feet,  there 
was  yet  a  grave  deliberation  about  the  old  man, — 
for  he  must  have  well  passed  sixty  years, — and  there 
was  measured  sonorousness  in  the  hard  but  deep 
voice  that  answered  the  woman's  panting  cry: 

"  Yer  be  n't  errin',  be  yer,  gell?"  The  mountaineer 
of  that  region  ever  shows  an  indirectness  in  placing  a 
negatived  query,  even  before  a  statement  of  fact ;  a 
result  of  habit,  doubtless,  in  this  case,  rather  than  of 
character.  "Yer  hain't  ben  takin'  critters  fur  soljers, 
hez  yer?" 

"Sho'  I  hain't,  paw!  Th'  critter  cump'ny's  en  th' 
path  now;  twenty  on  'em,  an'  two  cap'ns !" 

"Whar's  Hank?"  The  old  man's  eyes  glowed; 
and  his  bony  hand  instinctively  clutched  the  long 
hunting  rifle,  leaning  against  the  wall, 

"I  dunno,  paw!  Hain't  seen  my  man  fur  two 
whole  day.     He  war  to  be  yer  tur  night ;  but  reck'n 


26  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

he'sla^-in'  in  th'  ole  hidin'  now.  That  ben't  no  use!'^ 
She  touched  the  rifle  as  she  spoke.  "Tha's  too 
many;  twenty  with  guns  an'  choppin'  knives — all 
arter  Hank !     He  mus'  be  warnt." 

An  ugHer  gleam  came  from  the  old  man's  eyes,  as 
the  hard  fingers  shut  closer  round  the  rifle  barrel. 
But  he  only  lilted  his  right  hand  above  his  head,  in 
menacing  imprecation,  as  he  growled : 

"Ther  Lord's  curse  on  'em  all — root  an'  branch! 
Ther  bloody,  man-huntin'  devils!"  Then,  rapidly  yet 
deliberately,  he  added:  "Yes;  he  must  be  warnt! 
Yer  ben't  skeert,  gell,  be  yer?  Then  speed  an'  warn 
yer  man!  No;  not  by  thar,"  he  cautioned,  as  the 
woman  gathered  her  drenched  shawl  and  touched 
the  wooden  door-bolt.     "  Git  by  hither !" 

The  soft  plash  of  hoofs  upon  wet  ground,  and  the 
low  murmur  of  voices  without,  reached  his  ear  as  he 
spoke,  telling  both  there  was  short  time  for  escape, 
as  the  man  opened  the  creaking  shutter  cautiously 
and  only  far  enough  for  the  frail  body  of  the  woman 
to  slip  out  into  the  storm  once  more.  But,  even  as- 
Latham's  quick  eye  detected  the  doubtful  gleam,  all 
was  dark  again;  and  the  woman  was  speeding 
through  the  rain  straight  into  the  black  woods. 

A  moment  later  came  the  summons  at  his  door; 
the  old  man  standing  grim  and  defiant  facing  it,  but 
silent  to  gain  her  time.  Once  more  he  raised  his 
clinched  hand  on  high ;  and  once  more  the  evil  gleam 
deepened  in  his  eyes,  as  his  lips  moved  in  wordless 
curse.  Then,  at  the  last  rough  summons,  he  spoke^ 
strode  to  the  door  and  threw  it  wide.  The  gleam  of 
the  fire,  lighting  the  misty  night  into  steam,  went 


JOHN    HOLDEX,   UNIONIST.  2T 

out  cheerily  to  the  drenched  men ;  the  party  advanc- 
ing rapidly,  carbine  in  hand. 

"Halt!"  rang  Shelby'-s  voice.  "Stranger,  we  need 
shelter  for  the  night.     Can  w^e  get  it  ?  " 

The  motionless  man  in  the  doorway  measured  the 
group  cautiously  but  deliberateh^  his  back  to  the 
fire  and  his  face  unseen.     Then  he  replied  slowly : 

"Course  yer  kin;  an'  thet  'thout  help  'long  o'  me. 
Yer'll  tek  wot  yer  need,  axin'  er  t'uther." 

"Are  you  alone  here?"  the  captain  asked. 

"I  war  'tell  yer  'vaded  my  place,"  was  the  grim 
reply  of  the  unwilling  host.  "Them  sheds  thar  be 
empty.  I  hain't  got  no  victual,  but  thar's  wood 
bey  ant." 

With  prompt  decision  Shelb}'  dismounted ;  and  the 
sergeant,  with  scant  ceremony,  brushed  by  the  head 
of  the  house  and  seized  a  blazing  stick  from  the 
hearth.  Soon, with  that  alacrit^^to  utilize  the  worst 
circumstances  common  to  the  trooper  in  blue  or  in 
gray,  each  man  had  his  horse  under  shelter  of  the  not 
clean  shed,  had  rubbed  him  with  a  wisp  of  the  scat- 
tered straw,  and  was  trying  to  dry  himself  at  one  of 
the  cheerful  fires  dotting  the  front.  Some,  too  wearv 
to  care  for  wet,  had  stretched  beside  their  beasts, 
saddle  pillowed,  and  already  slept  the  sleep  of  the 
good  digestion — albeit  with  slack  exercise  for  it. 

"Send  out  one  picket  each  way,  sergeant;  and. 
keep  one  post  stable-guard,"  the  captain  ordered, 
adding:  "This  is  a  precious  night  for  bushwhackers; 
and  we  can't  spare  one  man — or  horse !  " 

With  this  caution,  he  and  Latham  turned  into  the 
house,  each  instinctively  feeling  if  his  pistol  was  loose- 


'28  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

in  holster.  Unceremoniously  the  two  officers  passed 
to  the  fire,  placing  their  backs  so  near  it  that  a  steamy 
mist  rose  from  their  soaked  clothing;  but  their 
ungracious  host  still  stood  in  the  doorway,  facing 
them,  silent  and  grim. 

"Who  are  you,  my  man?"  Shelb}'  queried, bluntly. 

"I  ben't  yer  man,  be  I?"  was  the  deliberate 
response.  "I  beafreecit'zen  ov  Alabama  state,  soljer, 
an'  thet's  a  mighty  differ." 

"Well,  then,  what  are  you  besides?  " 

"I  be  John  Holden;  an'  I  hev  farm'd  'roun  yere 
nigh  onto  forty  year,  afore  this  cursid  war  riz  ter 
distroy  ther  Ian' !  May  the  Lord's  blight  fall  on 
'em  ez  made  it !  " 

Shelby  made  no  reply,  only  slipping  a  greasy  note- 
book from  an  inner  pocket  and  scanning  a  page  by 
the  firelight;  but  Latham  turned  sharph^  on  the 
rebellious  speaker : 

"You  don't  speak  very  loyally  for  an  Alabam- 
ian!" 

Gravely,  but  with  an  ugly  glint  in  his  eyes,  the  old 
man  measured  the  youth  from  head  to  heel ;  then 
answered  very  slowly  and  bitterly: 

"I  doan'  speak  loil,  doan'  I  ?  I  war  loil  terth'guv'- 
ment  afore  yer  war  born,  young  soljer;  an'  I  swar 
I'm  too  ole  ter  larn  new  tricks  !  Curse  ther  war !  "  he 
went  on,  with  deeper  voice  and  raised  right  hand. 
"  Curse  ther  spillin' ov  blood  ter  mek  breth'rin,  the 
starvin'  ov  wimmin  ter  mek  peace  an'  good  will! 
Curse  o'  th'  Lord  on  ther  skulkin'  hunters  ov  po' 
devils,  lyin'  out  starvin'  on  ther  mounting!  " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  2&' 

"You  talk  like  a  traitor,  old  man!"  Shelby  said. 

"Yer  talk  like  a  nigger-trader,  young  soljer," 
Holden  retorted,  in  the  same  delibera'te  voice ;  but  the 
veins  swelled  out  on  the  hard  hand  that  gripped  his 
gun  and  his  eyes  literally  blazed.  "John  Holden 
talks  no  differ  ez  he  talked  in  ther  convenshun,  wen 
he  stud  fur  right,  an'  light,  an'  God's  jestice,  'gin  ther 
whole  sesesh !  Tha  'lowed  then  tha'd  hang  him  fur 
th'  truth;  but  he  ain't  hanged  yit,  air  he?  John 
Holden  talks  under  his  own  roof  ez  he'll  talk  at  th' 
bar  o'  jedgment ;  an'  he  be  n't  owin'  noloilt}"  to  sech 
ez  ye  be !  " 

"Well,  3^ou're  safe  from  us,  so  long  as  you  only 
talk,"  Shelby  rejoined,  quietly.  "We  are  soldiers, 
not  law\'ers;  and  we  are  your  guests  to-night, 
besides." 

"An'  ov  yer  own  axin',  too,"  was  the  uncompro- 
mising retort. 

"All  the  same,  we  hope  to  sample  jour  salt," 
Latham  put  in  gaih',  "for  we're  devilish  hungry  alter 
our  bath.  But,  all  the  same,  you'll  find  a  less  dis- 
loyal tongue  more  safe." 

"I'm  not  a-huntin'  ov  safety  'long  o'  ye,"  the  old 
man  answered  doggedly.  "I  tell  3'er  agin,  this  man- 
huntin' is  dirty  bizness  fer  eny  soljer;  an' a  dirty 
night  th'  Lord  hev  sent  ye  fur  it !  John  Holden  war 
agin  ther  war  from  fust!  He'll  live  an'  die  agin  it! 
He  war  reck'n'd  good  'nuff  an'  loil  enufif  ter  send  to 
ther  convenshun,  an'  he  stud  agin  'em  all.  But  th' 
Lord's  curse  was  on  'em;  an'  they  row'd  an'  fit  an' 
'low'd  fur  standin'  out  'gin  ther  guv'ment;  an'  none 
ov'em  knowed  wh\^,  'cepn'  along ovth'  niggers!   An*" 


30  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST 

in  the  mountings,  we  hain't  own'd  no  niggers,  hez 
we?  An'  we  never  'spects  ter.  JohnHoldentole  'em 
th'  Lord's  truth  then ;  an'  he  hain't  larnt  ter  talk  no 
differ  yit!  Who  ge'en  Jeff  Davis  ther  rite  ter  order 
me  an'  my  flesh  to  fight  inter  th'  war?  Who  ge'en  ye 
ther  rite  ter  'vade  roun'yere,  a-skeerin'lone  wimmin, 
an'  a-huntin'  huming  game?  Warn't  et  enuff  ter 
strip  th'  Ian'  o'  men  an'  crops  an'  critters?  Furnow 
an'  fur  doomsday,  I  say,  curse  ther  war !  Curse  Jeff 
Davis  an'  his  hull  crew,  a-harryin'  po'  devils  in  ther 
mountings!  " 

"Shut  your  treasonous  mouth!"  Latham  began, 
striding  one  step  toward  the  staunch  old  bigot.  But 
Shelby  restrained  him  with  the  quiet  words : 

"Steady,  Latham.  We  have  no  orders  to  try 
traitors.     Besides,  we  are  under  his  roof." 

"An'  ther  do's  open  yit,  ef  yer  doan'  keer  ter  stay, 
young  soljer !  "  Holden  added,  grimly. 

"Thanks;  but  I'll  sta}^"  Latham  replied,  with 
returning  good  humor.  "  Better  keep  a  closer  tongue, 
though.  You  might  say  what  would  force  the  cap- 
tain to  carry  you  along;  and,  frankly,  I  do  not  think 
you  would  be  a  congenial  messmate." 

"He  is  right,  Holden,"  Shelby  said,  gravely.  "We 
are  not  sent  here  to  talk  politics ;  but  I  cannot  listen 
to  rank  treason,  even  when  born  of  overzeal  for  your" 
— ^he  paused  a  moment,  then  added  slowly — "your 
friends,  out  in  hiding  such  a  night  as  this !" 

The  mountaineer  made  no  reply  in  words,  but  the 
evil  red  gleam  deepened  in  his  eyes  at  the  last  words, 
and  his  lower  jaw  set  harder  against  its  fellow.  He 
still  stood  rigid  in  the  open  doorway;  heedless  of  the 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  31 

-driving  rain  and  of  the  lurid  flashes  that  lit  his 
figure  into  uncann}-  seeming  of  a  statued  Vengeance. 

"With  your  permission,  mine  host,"  Latham  cried, 
lightly,  as  he  threw  on  dr^-  brush,  and  both  troopers 
held  their  wet  boots  to  the  blaze.  "I'd  like  to  draw 
mine  off,  for  the  first  time  in  thirty-six  hours ;  but, 
in  such  weather  and  in  these  parts,  I  have  learned 
that  it  is  not  a  man's  hat  but  his  boots  which  fit  too 
tight  in  the  morning.  By  the  way," — he  turned 
cheerily  to  the  motionless  figure, — "I'd  be  glad  to 
loosen  my  belt,  too,  ifyou  can  possibly  fill  that  aching 
void  it  parth'  coerces.  Can  3'ou  not  give  us  a  bite 
and  some  coifee?  We'll  pay  you  well  for  it,  old  man." 

The  mountaineer  made  no  reply  for  a  moment. 
Over  his  face  the  play  of  flitting  emotions  told  of 
inward  struggle ;  then  the  features  settled  into  quiet 
with  the  green-red  eyes  glinting  with  a  cunning  that 
dominated  hate.  He  leaned  his  rifle  against  the 
wall,  closed  the  door  and  strode  to  the  fire  ere  he 
answered : 

"John  Holden  hain't  a-sellin'  grub  ter  soljers,  bov! 
But  it  hain't  en  him  ter  turn  a  dog,  er  a  soljer,  frum 
his  do',  wet  an'  hungry!  Keep  yer  Comfed'rit  rag. 
Yer  be  free  ter  share  wot  yer  likes  hev  lef '  fur  us  ter 
starve  on.    Ef  ye  do  be  agin  us,  ye  shell  eat !" 

He  raked  some  glowing  coals  out  on  the  hearth, 
with  his  huge,  red  brogan ;  turned  to  the  dresser  and 
produced  platters  with  corn  pone  and  salted  meat ; 
and  placed  a  blackened  coftee-pot  upon  the  coals. 
Scant  ceremony  was  used  by  the  hungry  cavalrvmen ; 
and,  in  a  moment,  altercation  was  replaced  bv  the 
far  more  congenial  working  of  three  pairs  of  jaw^s. 


32  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

For  Holden,  too,  sat  on  a  sawed  stump  and  ate 
with  his  unbidden  guests.  And,  though  he  ate  as  if 
food  had  not  passed  his  lips  that  day,  the  furtive 
gleam  of  his  eyes  rested  ceaselessly  on  one  or  the 
other  of  the  men,  cunning  blending  with  keen  calcu- 
lation, in  the  gaze. 

Parched  corn  "coffee"  was  not  nectar.  Neither 
could  saltless  corn  pone  and  fat,  rancid  bacon  replace 
ambrosia.  But  never  did  festive  gods  on  high 
Olympus  quaff  or  masticate  with  more  eagerness  and 
earnestness,  however  higher  may  have  soared  appre- 
ciation. But  at  last,  even  soldier  appetite  was 
appeased ;  and  it  was  the  younger  officer  that 
unslung  his  canteen,  covered  with  blue  cloth,  and 
offered  it  to  his  host. 

"Mr.  Holden,  we  maj-  not  agree  on  the  letter  of 
doctrine,"  he  said  saucih',  "but  we  may  join  in  the 
spirit !  This  canteqp  should  not  offend  you,  for  I — 
hem! — borrowed  it  from  a  gentleman  of  your  way  of 
thinking  a  short  while  back.  There  is  still  enough 
in  it  lor  two;  will  3^ou  join  me?"  He  drew  the 
stopper,  wiping  the  nozzle  with  his  sleeve,  as  he 
proffered  the  vessel  to  the  old  man. 

"  Nun  ov  thet  fur  me,  j-oung  man,"  Holden  replied, 
graveh" ;  and  his  voice  softened  strangeh'  as  he 
added:  "I  hain't  never  techt  et  sence  my  'ooman 
died.  I  ge'en  her  th'  promis'  as  she  war  a-goin',  an' 
hev  kep'  ther  wurd !  " 

"Well,  you  can  join  me,"  Shelby  put  in,  gazing 
curiously  at  Holden.  He  drew  a  black  briar  pipe  and 
an  India  rubber  bag  from  his  damp  pocket,  as  he 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  33 

added:  "This  is  genuine  Lynchburg,  and  drives 
away  the  blue  devils." 

"I  hain't  never  pestered  by  th'  devil,"  Holden 
answered,  gravely,  "but  I  doan'  puff  nuthin', 
nuther.  Wen  John  Holden  did  git  drunk,  it  were 
alwa\'s  on  rale  mounting  licker.  Sence  he  quit,  he 
ain't  never  keared  ter  pisin'  himse'f  on  smoke.  Light 
yer  owns;  none  on  it  fur  me,"  and  he  turned  quietly 
to  the  dresser,  with  the  now  nearly  emptied  platters. 

"He  seems  a  regular  old  Arab  as  to  his  salt," 
Latham  whispered  to  his  senior,  "but  more  of  a 
Wahabee  about  rum  and  tobacco.  He  would  shoot 
either  of  us  on  the  mountain  side  as  a  pleasant  epi- 
sode; but  considers  a  sip  and  a  cloud  a  crime!  I 
doubt  if  Mr.  Holden  has  really  read  Monckton 
Milnes ;  but  he  is  a  Wahabee." 

Both  officers  filled  their  pipes  and  puffed  in  silence 
a  while,  Holden  sitting  grim  and  motionless  between 
the  pair.  Ever  and  again,  as  a  horse  nickered  with- 
out, his  head  bent  further  forward,  as  tho'  in  eager 
listening ;  and  once,  at  the  changed  sentry's  challenge, 
he  started  to  rise,  in  dread  lest  they  had  indeed 
caught  his  boy.  But,  at  last,  Latham's  pipe  dropped 
from  his  lips,  as  he  dozed  contentedly;  and  Shelby 
knocked  the  ashes  from  his  briar  root,  as  he  rose  and 
called  cheerily : 

"Taps !    Wake  up,  Bev. !    It's  time  to  go  to  bed." 

Holden  pointed  silently  to  the  bunks,  without 

rising  from  his  seat;  and  both  officers  spreading  their 

still  damp  coats  over  the  logs,  laid  their w^aterproofs 

and  blankets  on  the  hard  board  and  prepared  for 


34  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

soldier  sleep.    At  his  bunk,  Shelby  faced  suddenly, 
asking  Holden : 

''Where  is  your  son?" 
Accustomed  as  he  was  to  sudden  surprises  in  his 
mountain  life,  even  the  iron  nerves  of  John  Holden 
nearly  betrayed  him.  It  was  only  for  one  instant 
that  he  gave  a  slight  start,  and  that  his  lips  moved 
without  sound,  in  reply.  The  next,  the  face  grew 
stolid  as  before ;  but  the  eyes,  that  shone  with  evil 
gleam,  were  averted  from  Shelby's  scrutiny,  as  he 
answered,  slow^ly : 

"I  'low  he's  with  his  reege'm'nt.  Hank  war  a 
soljer,  'long  o'  you'uns,  'gin  his  pawn's  wall." 

"When  did  you  see  him  last,"  Shelby  again  queried. 

The  lie,  that  personal  peril  had  never  w^rung  from 

the  fanatical  mountaineer,  came  glib  and   swift  to 

the  father's  fear ;  and  the  voice  was  still  unshaken 

and  slow  that  replied : 

"Not  sence  he  rid  aw^ay  ter  jine  ther  critter  cump'- 
ny,  a  year  cum  nex'  munth." 

"Was  he  married  ?  "    The  querist  was  persistent. 
One  lurid  gleam  shot  from  the  old  man's  eyes 
into  the  calm  soldier's.   Then  they  fell  again ;  and  the 
voice  was  lower  that  answ^ered : 

"  Yes ;  he  war  marrit !  " 

"Had  he  children?" 

"Hehed.  One  gell  an'  one  peart  boy.  Ther  kid 
war  named  fur  his  gren'paw%  John  Holden."  The 
voice  softened  strangely  and  shook  a  trifle  now,  as  it 
added :   "An'  we  berrit  him  jes  five  week  gone !  " 

"And  his  father  never  saw  him?  " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  35 

No  answer  had  been  needed,  more  than  the  deadly 
hate  that  glinted  in  the  e\'es  Holden  turned  upon  his 
questioner,  as  the  black  nails  dug  into  his  clinched 
hands.  But  the  soldier's  e^'es — under  strain  of  dis- 
tasteful duty — were  turned  awa\^;  and  a  supreme 
effort  once  more  controlled  the  old  man,  so  that  he 
lied  loyally : 

"Naw;  his  daddy  never  seen  'im!  " 

"That  was  sad,  indeed,"  the  captain  answered. 
"Then  there  must  be  some  error  in  this ?  "  He  fixed 
his  eyes  full  upon  the  mountaineer's,  again  drew  the 
memorandum  book  from  his  pocket,  and,  never  look- 
ing at  it,  read  from  memorj^ :  "  '  Hank  Holden,  private 
troop  B,  — th  Alabama  Cavalry ;  six  feet  tall ;  stoops ; 
sandy  hair;  pock-marked.  Deserted  June  6,  1863;' 
last  seen  near  his  home  July  2,  1863'. — This  cannot 
be  your  son  ?  " 

For  as  long  as  one  might  count  fifty,  the  two  men 
stood,  looking  in  each  other's  eyes ;  those  of  the 
officer  stead}"  and  calm,  \vhile  the  mountaineer's 
deepened  until  their  red  gleam  was  fierce  and  wolfish. 
Then  John  Holden  rose  from  his  seat,  erect,  defiant ; 
and,  raising  his  right  hand  high  above  his  head,  he 
spoke  deliberateh",  but  fiercely  and  with  desperate 
menace  in  his  tone : 

"Man,  yer  be  tryin'  ter  trap  me!  John  Holden  be 
known  these  parts  roun'.  He  hain't  never  tole  a  lie 
afore  this  cursid  war !  He  hain't  a-lyin'  now,  wen  he 
tells  yer  this ;  he  hain't  yit  turned  back  ter  no  enimy, 
er  never  went  back  on  er  frien' !  He  hain't  agoin'  ter 
lie  agin,  'bout  his  boy  !  Hank  Holden — my  boy— all 
yer've  lefF  me  now!    Hank  is  a-lvin'   out  on  ther 


36  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

mounting  ter  night;  a-laidin'  frum  th'  hunters  his 
paw's  a-keepin'  dry  an'  warm !  I  hain't  afeard  tertell 
ye;  he's  a-hidin  thar,  whar  yer'U  not  fin' him,  an'  I'll 
help  him,  ef  God  jedges  me !  Ketch  Hank,  ef  yer  kin  ! 
Thet's  wot  JefiP  Davis  pays  yer  fur!  Pays  yer  ter 
keep  th'  conscrip'  frum  his  starvin'  wife — frum  his 
dyin'  chile!  Ketch  Hank  Holden,  ef  yer  kin ;  butheer 
me  now:  ef  yer  harm  one  har  of  his  head — ef  yer 
shoot  my  boy !  then  I  swar  God's  yoath  !  " — his  form 
seemed  to  dilate  and  tower  taller  in  the  flickering 
light,  and  the  roof  pole  rang  under  his  vibrant  voice 
—"1  swar  thet  I'll  foller  ye  boath  ter  th'  end  o'  th' 
3^earth,  but  wot  I'll  do  ter  ye  wot  ye  hevdone  ter  my 
boy !  As  sure  as  thar's  a  God  up  thar,  or  a  devil  in 
hell  I'll  do  jest  that!" 

The  old  man's  voice — strident,  yet  solemn  as  a 
curse — was  still.  Dead  silence  fell  upon  the  trio ;  and 
the  soldiers  felt  a  thrill  pass  through  them,  from  the 
magnetic  will  of  the  resolute  fanatic. 


CHAPTER  III. 

FATHER  AND  SON. 

Without,  the  rain  still  pattered  on  the  leaves,  but 
with  lighter  fall;  the  growl  of  the  thunder  rolled 
sullen  but  more  distant,  and  the  wild  wail  of  the 
storm  wind  fell  into  a  dull  moan. 

Through  the  sounds  of  warring  nature,  suddenly 
cut  clear  and  sharp  the  ring  of  a  distant  shot.  With 
one  impulse,  the  three  men  turned,  listening;  but, 
before  either  could  move,  a  second  report  rang  out, 
clearer  and  more  near.  Holden's  lips  moved,  but  no 
word  came  Irom  them,  as  he  rushed  to  the  door  and 
threw  it  wide.  The  others  followed,  but  recoiled  at 
the  threshold,  as  a  vivid,  blue  flash  of  lightning 
almost  blinded  them.  Next  instant,  all  three  were 
standing  eagerly,  bareheaded  in  the  storm. 

"Carbine  firing,"  Latham  said,  peering  under  his 
hand  into  the  gloomy  be3'ond. 

"The  last  shot,  yes,"  Shelby  answered.  "The first 
shot  was  a  rifle." 

As  the  head  of  Holden  towered  behind  them,  his 
thin  lips  formed  the  wordless  prayer:  "God  help  my 
boy!" 

The  sergeant  ran  up  soon,  to  report,  hand  to  cap: 

37 


38  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST'. 

"A  skulker  about  the  nortli  picket  post,  sir.  Chal- 
lenged, he  fired  at  us;  and  our  man  answered." 

"Was  the  picket  hit,  sergeant  ?  " 

"No,  sir;  but  the  bullet  cut  his  cape.  The  bush- 
whacker fired  at  his  flash." 

"And  got  away,  as  usual,"  Latham  added. 

"Yes,  sir.  It's  hard  shooting  in  a  night  like  this, 
sir,"  the  sergeant  replied,  apologeticalh'. 

"An'  he  warn't  born  on  ther  mounting,  ter  be 
killed  b\^  hired  hunters !  Ther  Lord'll  guard  him  on 
his  own  groun'!  " 

Holden's  voice  was  sonorous  with  conviction  but 
full  of  contemptuous  hate ;  and  the  captain  turned 
quick  upon  him : 

"So  you  planned  this !" 

"Et  ben't  likely,  be  it?"  was  the  calm  rejoinder. 
"You'uns  warn't  'vited  3'ere,  war  3'e?  An'  sence 
yer've  cum,  I  hain't  leff  ye,  hev  T  ?  But  I  do  jedge  as 
ther  man  \vot  \'er  hunters  driv  off  were  mere  comin' 
ter  his  own  right,  under  his  paw's  roof!" 

"Your  son!"  Latham's  tone  showed  his  amaze 
at  the  man's  cool  audacity. 

"Like'r'n  no,  I  jedge.  En  he  hed  er  right  ter  cum. 
He  is  in  ther  han's  ov  ther  Lord,  bo}' !  His  time  hev 
got  ter  cum,  but  it  hain't  cum  \'it,  3'er  see.  Untel  et 
shell,  yer  bullets — an'  ther  bullets  ov  ther  hull  Bragg 
arm\' — hain't  no  pow'r  ter  harm  Hank.  He's  en  ther 
Lord's  hands !     Let  him  be !" 

With  these  words  the  mountaineer  raised  his  bared 
head  solemnly  to  the  black  vault  above,  standing 
one  moment  still  as  though  carved  in  stone.  The 
next,  he  turned  deliberateh',  moved  back  to  the  fire; 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  39 

and,  seating  himself  upon  a  log,  seemed  wrapped  in 
thought  and  wholly  forgetful  of  his  unbidden  guests. 

"He's  mad  as  a  March  hare!"  Latham  whispered 
to  his  senior,  at  the  door.  "  Of  course,  though,  he  is 
lying,  to  throw  us  off  the  track." 

"Of  course  not,"  the  captain  answered.  "It  does 
not  surprise  me  that  the  deserter  was  trjang  to  meet 
his'paw';  and  you  knowwewere  not  expected  here." 

"I  suppose  you  are  right,"  the  junior  responded. 
"We  must  do  some  close  beating  of  the  bush  about 
here,  to-morrow." 

"We  must,  indeed.  Sergeant,  have  the  men  ready 
to  move  at  first  dawn.  Double  your  picket,  and 
keep  your  eyes  open." 

With  these  words  the  officers  re-entered  the  cabin, 
closed  the  door  and  cast  meaning  glances  upon  the 
motionless  figure  of  the  man  at  the  fire.  But  he  took 
no  note  of  their  entry  by  word  or  glance,  staring 
absently  into  the  coals  with  dreamy,  absent  gaze. 
The  soldiers  exchanged  glances,  seemed  satisfied  that 
their  outside  guard  was  sufficient  and  stretched  out 
on  their  blankets.  Only  Latham  spoke,  in  a  low 
whisper,  as  he  pulled  his  pistol  butt  well  toward  his 
hand: 

"I  was  right;  he's  mad  as  a  March  hare!" 
Time  passed  heavily  over  the  cabin,  the  night 
watch  of  the  sitter-up  intruded  upon  by  no  sound 
save  the  soft  patter  of  rain,  occasional  distant  thun- 
der, and  the  deep,  regular  breathing  of  the  sleeping 
officers.  The  fire  gradually  died  out,  first  into  a 
mass  of  glowing  coals,  then  into  the  dull  gray  ash  of 
burnt  brush.    And  then,  the  old  man  turned  his  head 


40  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

cautiously,  and  as  in  query,  toward  tlie  sleepers. 
But  he  only  shook  it  slowly,  in  negative  to  his  own 
thought;  remaining  motionless  upon  his  stump.  At 
last  he  turned  again — the  cabin  now  perfectly  dark — 
and  listened  intently.  Then  slowly,  so  slowly  that 
he  scarce  seemed  to  move  at  all,  Holden  left  his  seat, 
falling  upon  hands  and  knees  w4th  the  softness  of  a 
cat.  Gradually  he  moved — almost  crawling  flat 
upon  his  face — to  the  door,  pausing  to  listen  at  every 
yard,  and  finally  opening  the  latch  without  a  sound. 
Then  he  lay  prone  upon  the  sill;  for  the  moon  gave  a 
sickly  gleam,  that  was  scarcely  light,  as  it  peered  for 
a  moment  from  behind  the  clouds.  But  it  w-as  only 
for  a  moment.  Then  a  heavy,  dull  cloud  swept 
across  her  face;  and  when  the  Goddess  of  Night  next 
peered  down  upon  the  doorway,  it  was  empty  and 
the  man  was  gone. 

Where?  Out  through  darkness,  loneliness  and 
storm  to  find  his  boy,  and  warn  him  of  the  dangers 
closing  round  about  him.  Crouched  in  the  dense 
shadows  of  the  cabin,  he  crept  away  from  stations 
of  the  pickets,  crossed  the  open  space  like  a  spirit, 
and  gained  the  deep  shadowing  woods,  beyond  the 
chance  of  sound  traveling  upon  the  damp  air.  Then 
he  straightened  to  his  full  height ;  fell  into  the  long, 
swinging  stride  of  the  mountaineer,  and  rapidlj^ 
ascended  the  steepest  side  of  the  mountain,  pathless 
but  almost  bare  of  growth,  save  scrub  and  mountain 
laurel.  Once  he  stopped  upon  a  ledge,  overlooking 
the  fires  at  his  own  cabin,  now  far  below  him,  bared 
his  head  and  lifted  his  right  hand  to  the  star- 
less vault  above.    His  lips  moved  rapidly,  but  no 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  41 

word  left  them  to  shock  the  attent  ear  of  Night, 
whether  his  action  was  a  menace  or  a  vow. 

Then,  plunging  deeper  into  the  brush,  and  aided  by 
branch  and  overhanging  stone,  he  clambered  up 
what  might  have  been  a  cattle  track.  But  cattle 
were  as  scarce  as  Confederates  in  the  mountains  of 
North  Alabama  in  1863,  and  Holden's  way  was  as 
arduous  as  it  was  steep.  At  last,  he  reached  a  nar- 
row spur  of  stone,  bare  and  projecting  over  the  pre- 
cipitous descent  to  the  cove  below.  Lying  flat  upon 
it,  he  gave  a  peculiar  call,  close  imitation  of  the 
mountain  o\vl.  Pausing  a  moment,  he  repeated  it, 
and  then  a  third  time  gave  the  signal. 

Not  until  then  did  answer  come  from  beneath  the 
rock ;  but  soon  a  head  was  lifted  cautiously  over  the 
ledge,  in  the  now  fitful  moon  gleams ;  the  head  was 
followed  by  body  and  legs,  laboriously  drawn  up, 
and  father  and  son  clasped  hands  in  a  horny,  but 
meaningful,  grip.  The  latter,  a  vigorous  man  just 
past  his  early  manhood,  seemed  to  tally  with 
Shelby's  description. 

"  Well,  paw,"  he  said,  c|uietly,  "tha's  kind  o'  sur- 
prised me,  wen  I  cum  ter  nite." 

"Wy  willyer  be  so  ventursom',  Hank?"  the  old 
man  queried,  softly.  "Yer  mite  a-knowed  by  ther 
fires—" 

"I  hain't  'spectin'  cav'ry  j^ere,  em  I, paw ?  I  hain't 
seed  th'  fire  'fore  the  j)icket  shet." 

"  Lucky  fur  thim  as  miss'd  yer.  Hank  !  Yer  paw 
hev  rigesteered  a  j^oath,  son !  Ef  'e'd  a  shot  yer,  he'd 
a  had  ther  blood   'afore  dawnin',  sho'  ez  God  sets 


42  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

thar!  But  yer  shed  'a  ben  warnt.  Lize  'lowd  she'd 
tell  3'er  on  'em." 

"'Spect  she  cum  ter  th'  hidin'  wile  I  war  on  th' 
road  ter  hum,  paw.  Po'  ole  gell  I  She  doan'  hev 
much  peace  'long  'o  me!    Paw,  Pm  a-goin'  back!  " 

The  old  man  dropped  the  hand  he  had  held  till  now 
and  stepped  back,  staring  in  amaze.  Then  he  spoke, 
in  a  whisper  that  was  almost  a  hiss : 

"Back!  Back  ter  them  as  hunts  yer  fur  blood? 
Back  ter  Bragg's  army,  whar  yer'll  swing  like  er 
cattle  thief?     Yer  ben't  lune.  Hank,  be  yer?  " 

"Naw,  I  ben't,  paw!  But  I  do  be  sick  an'  worrit 
pas'  bearin',  arter  all  thes'  weeks.  I  hain't  a  cat,  er 
skunk,  paw;  an'  I  do  be  worrit'  o'  ther  huntin'  me 
lek  sich  !  Na'w  !  Doan'  preach,  paw  !  I  knows  wot 
yer'dsay;  but  I  tell  3^er,  et  'ud  be- long  better  fur 
Lize!  Po' gell!  she's  a-wearin'  out  body  an'  soul, 
watchin' fur  me;  an'  ther  mounting's  plum  full  o' 
cav'r\^  now,  'long  er  Bragg  an'  Forres'  bein'  so  clus. 
Th'll  git  me  j'it ;   an'  Pll  be  shet  sho  !  " 

'•An'  ef  \'er  be,  John  Holden  have  swar  his  yoath 
ter  God,  Hank!  He'll  hev  blood  fur  yourn,  sho'  ez 
death!" 

"Thet  'ud  n't  help  me  then,  pavv!  Thet' udn't 
help  Lize,  nuther.  'Sides,  thet  ain't  all.  Hank  ez  \^er 
own  son,  John  Holden;  an'  he  doan'  skeer  quick.  So 
it  hain't  only  that;  but,  'layin  all  'lone  day  an'  nite, 
it  hev  cum  ter  me,  paw.  I  hev  tb''  right  ter  go  back ; 
I  blongs  ter  Bragg's  arni}^,  s'long  as  I  jined  free!  " 

"Free!  Yer  jined  'gin  3'er  paw's  will!  not  a-mindin' 
his  rightius  word!  B'long  ter  Bragg?  B'long  ter 
Jeff  Davis  ?    B'long  ter  them  as  fights  ther  guv'ment 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  43 

o'  this  yere  Ian'  ?  Hank  Holden,  yer  do  be  lune,  sho's 
sun'll  rise! " 

"  Tha's  no  en'mies  o'  mine,  paw.     I  hev  rid  'long  o' 
th'boj^s;     I  hev  fit  by   'em,  hot   an' cole.     I  hev  t/2' 
right  ter  go  back,  paw;  an'  I'm  a-goin' !  " 
^    "An'  leave  yer  'ooman,  Hank?  Leave  yer  little  gell 
ter  starve?  " 

"Naw;  jest  help  'em,  paw!  I  hain't a-helpin'  now; 
only  a-worritin'  Lize.  Ef  I  go  back,  ther's  one 
mouth  less  ter  feed ;  an'  ther  po'gell  kin  hev  sum  res', 
night  by  day,  'stead  ov  watchin'  'long  ov  me,  an' 
starvin'  ter  feed — th'  disarter !  " 

He  spoke  the  word  in  bitter  scorn ;  but  he  drew  up 
to  his  full  height  and  folded  his  long  arms  across  his 
breast,  with  a  rude  dignity. 

"Ezthar's  a  Lord  above,  yer  shell  not  go,  Hank 
Holden!  "  the  older  man  cried,  with  raised  hand. 

"Ez  ther's  a  Lord  abuv,  I'm  a-goin'  back,  paw!  " 
the  younger  responded  firmly.  "Itoleyer  ez  I  war 
yer  son,  paw;  an'  wen  a  man's  min'  ez  sot,  by 
thinkin'  et  all  out  under  ther  sky,  'lone  an'  by  nite, 
'taint  no  use  ter  preach.  I  be  sot;  an'  I  know  I  do 
hev  ther  rite  ter  go  !  " 

"An'  be  mock  tried,  'fore  yer  be  shet,  Hank?  " 

"Efldo  be  shet;  I'll  resk  that,  paw!  An'  et 'ull 
be  my  own  doin,'  arter  all.  I  hedn't  orter  jined,  ef  I 
low'd  ter  quit.  Yer  shud  be  'shamed  ov  yer  son, 
paw ! — a  cow'rd  an'  disarter !  " 

"Yer  cum  arter  axin'  an'  prayin',  Hank!  Yer  cum 
ter  yer  starvin'  wife,  ter  yer  dyin' boy!  Th'  Lord 
never  hev  give  Jeff  Davis  pow'r  ter  stop  flesh  an' 
blood  frum  feelin',  boy!   I  say  yer  sheW  not  go  back!" 


44-  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

*'  But  I  shell  go,  paw !  My  niin'  is  sot !  " 

"An'  leave  yer  'ooman  ?  " 

"She's  better  off  'thout  me!"  the  deserter 
answered;  but  his  voice  trembled  and  grew  very 
gentle  as  he  went  on:  "Po'  Lize!  She'll  git  mo'  sleep 
— mo'  grub  'thout  her  man  ter  watch  fur!  An'  th' 
po' dead  Johnnie!  Wot  good  war  my  comin',  any- 
way ?  It  hain't  saved  him  !  Don't  tell  my  'ooman, 
paw.  She'd  only  fret  an'  pra}^  an'  cry.  But,  sho'  ez 
sun  do  rise,  I'm  a-goin'  ter  see  her  one  mo'  time.  I'm 
a-goin'  ter  see  little  Johnnie's  grave  one  mo'  time, 
and  then — "  again  his  voice  rang  resolute,  and  he 
stood  erect,  defiant — "then,  paw,  I'm  a-goin  back!  " 

The  pale  moon  looked  down  through  fleec\^  veil  of 
clouds  upon  the  strange  pair,  so  strangely  wrangling 
in  the  solitude  of  night.  For  a  full  minute  the  men 
stood  motionless,  looking  into  each  other's  eyes.  The 
soft  light  seemed  to  smile  on  the  rough,  resolute 
features  of  the  son ;  but  the  shadows  deepened  over 
the  father's  face,  as  the  thin  lips  set  in  harder  line 
and  the  red  gleam  blazed  from  his  eyes.  Suddenly  he 
raised  his  right  hand,  in  habitual  menace ;  speaking 
slowly  and  deliberately,  but  in  a  hard  dry  tone : 

"Hank  Holden,  yer  war  my  son!  Yer  he  v  ben  yer 
paw's  hope — all  that's  leff  him,  now.  Wen  j^er  jined 
'gin  his  will,  yer  near  1  ruck  his  heart.  Now,  arterall 
yer  hev  stud,  arter  all  ther  grief  ther  cursid  war  hev 
cause,  arter  yer  hev  seenA'er  dead  boy  an'  yerstarvin' 
wife — now,  ef  yer  do  go  back — "  the  long,  bony  hand 
above  his  head  trembled  as  the  man  paused ;  he 
gnipea  aown  sometnmg  that  stopped  his  speech,  anci 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  45 

went  on  more  rapidly:  "Then  may  th'  Lord  sen' 
his—" 

"Stop!  Doan'  ver  say  et!  Paw,  I  say — stopP^ 
The  3'oung  man's  voice  rang  out,  clear  and  command- 
ful,  cutting  the  curse  that  trembled  on  his  father's 
lips;  and,  as  he  spoke,  his  strong  right  arm  went 
out,  his  hand  grasped  the  raised  one  of  his  sire, 
bringing  it  doAvn  with  sudden  twist  and  holding  it 
firmly  in  the  cover  of  his  two. 

"Doan'  yer  saj^  et,  paw!  Wen  Hank  Holden  hev 
divSgrace  his  paw,  et'ull  be  time  'nuff  ter  cuss  him ! 
Now,  he  hev  got  ther  rite  ter  go ;  paw,  let  'im  go  en 
peace!" 

The  distant  rumbling  thunder,  echoing  up  the  cove 
beneath  them,  sounded  as  in  salute.  The  moon 
cleared  her  face  of  cloud-veil  and  smiled  softK'  down  ; 
and  at  the  instant,  clear  and  sharp  across  the  dis- 
tance, rang  the  reveille  from  the  bugle  of  the  cavalry. 

The  old  mountaineer's  great  head  bowed  further 
forward;  his  arms  relaxed,  but  his  trembling  lips 
formed  no  word,  as  his  horny  hand  grasped  his 
boy's.  And  that  boy,  hearing  the  bugle  call,  drew 
himself  to  full  stature,  standing  at  attention,  as  his 
free  hand  went  to  his  forehead,  at  salute. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

HUNTING    THE    BIG    GAME. 

Da"V  on  the  mountain  broke,  after  the  storm,  in  all 
its  fresh  grandeur,  and  with  a  calm  that  hinted 
nothing  of  war  and  her  attendant  trials.  The  thun- 
der-cleansed atmosphere  was  redolent  of  shrub- 
scents  and  mountain  laurel,  as  the  first  streaks  of 
dawn  appeared,  seemingly  in  their  suddenness  as  in 
answer  to  the  reveille  of  Shelby's  bugle. 

Quickly  the  men  had  saddled ;  had  munched  the 
last  remaining  crumbs  of  "tack  "  in  their  lean  haver- 
sacks ;  and  had  tightened  a  hole  each,  the  girths  of 
their  unfed  horses.  The  trooper  who  was  happy 
possessor  of  a  fragment  of  black  "niggerhead,"  was 
as  enviable  and  as  quickly  surrounded  as  is  a  new 
millionaire  "on  change." 

Shelby  showed  no  surprise  at  the  open  door  and 
absence  of  the  mountaineer,  when  he  opened  his  eyes 
promptly  at  bugle  call.  But  Latham,  glancing  at 
the  long  rifle  leaning  against  the  wall,  grumbled,  as 
he  buckled  his  belt  and  stamped  the  stiffness  out  of 
his  dried  boots : 

"The  pestilent  old  traitor!  Why  isn't  he  here  to 
give  us  some  coffee  ?  Um  !  Guess  he's  gone  to  warn 
that  precious  skulker  we  shot  at  last  night." 

46 


JOHN    HOLDEX,    UNIONIST.  47 

''Natural  enougli,"  Shelbj-  responded.  "You'd  do 
the  same,  wouldn't  you?" 

"I  don't  know,  Cap.  'You'd  scarce  expect  one  of 
my  age,  to  speak  in  public '  of  the  feelings  of  a  father. 
But  I  would  like  a  drop  of  coffee — though  it  was  as 
bitter  as  the  old  devil's  own  language!  I'll  try  it 
cold,  anyway,"  and  the  reckless  ^^oungster  dived 
under  the  dresser  and  found  the  coffee  pot,  helping 
himself  to  a  sip  that  twisted  his  face  comically. 

"None  for  me,  after  last  night,"  Shelby  said.  "I'll 
stick  to  the  canteen,  rather."  He  took  a  gulp  ot 
rum;  stuffed  some  cornbread  in  his  mouth  and  left 
the  cabin.  When  the  lieutenant  joined  him  at  the 
head  of  the  ready  column,  there  was  a  new  odor 
added  to  the  morning  air  scents ;  and  the  sub  was 
tw^isting  his  mustache  fiercely. 

"Ah!  Bev.,you  double-teamed  on  the  commanding 
officer,"  Shelb\^  cried. 

"Guilty;  mercy  of  the  court,"  the  junior  laughed. 
"Extenuation  found  in  any  old  copy-book :  'Exam- 
ples move  when  coffee  fails !'  " 

The  column,  quickly  mounted,  w^as  soon  on  the 
march  over  singularly  dry  paths,  for  Nature's  engi- 
neering had  proved  its  worth.  Her  unapproached 
sewerage  of  shed  and  gully,  had  run  surplus  water 
off  the  abrupt  descents,  and  the  only  moisture  was 
that  on  leaf  and  stunted  grass.  As  thej^  rounded  a 
high,  precipitous  crag  and  faced  the  east,  the  officers 
drew  rein;  and  Shelby,  pointing  over  the  valley, 
cried : 
-  "Look !    What  a  gorgeous  sunrise !" 


48  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"Grand!  Perfect!"  Latham  gushed.  "The  poet 
must  have  seen  a  mountain  morning,  when  he  wrote: 

'Forth  from  the  curtain  of  clouds,  from  the  tent  of 

purple  and  scarlet, 
Issued  the  Sun,  the  great  High  Priest,  in  garments 

resplendent; 
Holiness  unto  the  Lord!  in  letters  of  light  on  his 

forehead ; 
Round  the  hem  of  his  robe,  the  golden  bells  and 

pomegranates!' 

And,  see,  Cap.,  how  prettily  that  picturesque  little 
home,  way  down  in  the  valley,  grows  under  the 
light." 

He  pointed  almost  straight  below,  to  where  the 
red,  open  space  of  a  small  farm-plat  cut  the  gray- 
greens  of  the  mountain  side,  at  the  head  of  a  small 
cove  or  valley ;  near  it  a  little  stream  winding  like  a 
silver  snake  between  the  brush-grown  banks. 

"Picturesque  enough,"  the  older  soldier  answered, 
as  he  touched  his  horse  with  the  spur;  "but  when 
you  get  near  it — as  we  will,  later  in  the  da\^ — you'll 
find  that  dirt  and  squalor  have  borrowed  largely 
from  distance  for  their  enchantment." 

"Some  poor  devil  conscript's  home,  perhaps," 
Latham  replied.  "I  always  feel  sorry  for  these  poor 
women  and  children,  left  helpless  by  the  drain  of 
men ;  but  I  never  realized  what  dirt  and  starvation 
meant,  Cap.,  until  I  came  on  this  mountain  service. 
Hanged  if  I  like  it,  either!" 

"I  shouldn't  select  it,  myself,"  Shelby  answered. 
"I  never  find  man-hunting  pleasant;  and  it  is  least 
so  of  all  in  this  section,  where  almost  all  the  peoplq 


JOHN    HOLUEN,    UNIONIST.  49 

are    Balf-starved,     and    when    half    of    them    are 
unfriendly,  if  not  open  enemies." 

" It  is  not  Virginia,"  Latham  said,  ruefully.  "Well, 
I  presume  we  may  possibh' strike  a  farm-house  some- 
where, with  a  larder  in  it  for  a  breakfast." 

"And  a  girl?"  the  captain  queried,  with  a  laugh. 

"With  freckles,  red  hair,  dirty  sunbonnet and  a  pug 
nose?"  the  junior  responded.  "No,  thank  you! 
That  last  one  killed  my  aspirations  for  mountain 
flirtation,  'lor  three  years  or  the  war.'  " 

"There  are  some  clever  and  respectable  families 
still  left  in  the  hill  country,"  Shelby  replied.  "But 
here  is  a  level  stretch.  A  trot  may  sharpen  your 
appetite  both  for  breakfast  and  the  girl." 

He  gave  the  order,  and  the  column  moved  briskly 
forward,  in  direction  opposite  that  taken  the  night 
before.  The  certain  presence  of  deserters,  and  the 
audacious  attack  of  Hank  Holden  the  previous  night 
determined  the  commander  to  make  a  wide  detour 
before  again  striking  for  the  Fort  Payne  road. 

Meanwhile,  the  picturesque  home  that  Latham  had 
noticed  was  showing  anything  but  comfort  and 
peace  to  its  two  occupants.  It  was  really  only  one 
of  the  many  small  clearings,  that  dotted  the  sides  of 
Sand  Mountain  in  those  trying  war  days,  and  it 
showed  the  havoc  that  war's  drain  on  men  and 
means  made,  even  with  such  humble  homes.  The 
scanty  corn  patch  showed  evidence  of  scantiest  cul- 
tivation, with  rude  implements ;  the  trailing  squash 
and  melon  vines  were  partly  trodden  down ;  the 
absent  fence  left  rare  reminders  of  its  pristine  snaked 
rails  ;  and  only  the  light  smoke  of  brush  curled  froni 

4 


50  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

the  chimney  of  the  rude,  low  thatched  log  cabin,  with 
its  two  rooms  and  ^de  passage-way  between,  used 
as  kitchen,  sitting  room  and  wash  house,  as  need 
prompted.  A  board  shoved  between  the  logs  sufficed 
for  shelf-room  in  such  days  of  empty  larder ;  and  a 
sickly  vine,  trailing  feebly  against  the  post,  was  sole 
evidence  that  any  thought  of  the  inmates  went 
beyond  the  most  pressing  and  sordid  needs  of  life. 

Just  skirting  the  clearing  was  a  dense  thicket  of 
laurel  and  scrub  oak ;  and  through  this  flowed  a  deep 
and  narrow  stream,  with  great  shadowed  holes 
where  mountain  trout  leaped  in  audacity  of  certain 
peace.  For,  while  "ther  crick"  was  laundry,  lava- 
tory and  well  for  the  inmates  of  the  cabin,  all  in  one, 
the  inhabitants  of  Sand  Mountain  in  1863  had  little 
time  to  think  of  fishing.  For  the  most  part,  they 
were  divided  into  hunters  and  hunted;  and  "the  big 
game"  was  indeed  plentiful. 

Early  as  it  was  when  the  troopers  spied  the  cabin, 
a  rough  table  in  the  living  room  was  spread  for  such 
breakfast  as  "the  home"  offered — hard  corn  bread, 
fat  bacon  and  potato  coffee.  On  the  bench  by  it  sat 
the  tall,  pale  woman  of  the  previous  night's  tramp; 
and  an  elfish,  yellow-skinned  child  of  some  seven 
years,  in  frock  that  seemed  her  sole  garment.  It  was 
torn  and  outgrown,  too,  though  not  as  dirty  as 
common  with  small  mountain  "gells."  The  little 
arms  that  went  too  far  through  the  sleeves,  and  the 
long,  kildee-like  legs  that  were  but  half-hidden  by 
skirt,  told  by  their  color  that  the  girl  was  no  stranger 
to  "ager,"  and  equally  that  she  was  never  well-fed 
enough  to  resist  it,  from  their  thinness.    Now  the 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  51 

child  ate  the  rough  fare  ravenously,  her  hunger  keener 
from  lack  of  maternal  care  on  the  previous  day, 
which  had  left  her  dinnerless  and  supperless  as  well. 

But  the  mother  ate  nothing,  sipping  absently  the 
thick  coffee  from  her  yellow  mug.  One  hand  sup- 
ported her  head,  that  looked  more  hay-like  and  wan 
in  the  clear  light  of  day,  and  that  showed,  too,  that 
the  green-blue  eyes  were  deep  sunken  and  dim  while 
at  rest,  with  heavy  black  rings  beneath  them,  invad- 
ing the  sunken,  yello\v  cheeks.  There  was  a  furtive 
action  frequent  to  those  eyes,  as  if  the  woman  were 
ever  expectant  of  danger,  or  some  sudden  demand 
upon  her  nerves.  None  looking  on  her  premature 
age  and  poverty-stamped  aspect,  had  guessed  that 
Lize  Holden  had  been  the  belle  and  the  beautA'of  Sand 
Mountain,  when  Hank  had  gained  theenmity  of  men 
for  himself,  and  the  env\'  of  all  girls  for  her,  by  bring- 
ing his  bride  to  this  clearing ! 

Yet  she  was  one  only  of  the  million  results  of  the 
war,  to  this  date  equally  tr3ang  to  man  and  woman, 
yet  only  in  light  presage  so  far  of  the  dire  stress,  suf- 
fering and  agony  to  come  to  both  ! 

"Cum,  Sis,  git  'long  with  yer  feedin',  can't  yer?" 
the  mother  said,  not  ungenth^  as  she  waked  out  of  a 
half  day-dream  with  a  heavy  sigh.  ' '  Yer'U  hev  ter  skip 
'cross  ter  yer  grenpaw's;  fur  I  missed  yer  dad  at  th' 
hidin'  las'  nite,  an'  I'm  smeart  worrittid  'long  o'thet 
critter  cump'ny !  " 

The  child,  thus  hurried,  ceased  the  loud  sups  at  her 
cracked,  yellow  coffee  mug,  and  soon  she  rose  in  a 
little-old-womanly  way  and  began  arranging  corn- 
bread  and  bacon  strips  in  a  homely  sandwich, 


52  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"Dad  mus'  be  smeart  hungry,  ef  he  miss'd  yer, 
mamm}'.  Like  I'll  meet  'im  reound  'bout  grenpaw's. 
Shen't  I  tote  this  3'ere  grub  ?  " 

"Sho'yer  shell,  Sis,"  the  mother  answered  with 
another  sigh.  "Et'sjesth'  lass'  crum',  but  we'uns 
kin  git  mo'  easier'n  yer  dad.  Skip  'long,  Sis,  'fore  it 
gits  hot  b'  sun." 

The  child  gravely  rolled  up  the  food  in  an  old 
checked  apron,  twitched  from  a  peg  a  huge  sunbon- 
net,  and  looked  more  a  Brownie  than  ever,  as  its 
ample  frill  enveloped  neck  and  shoulders;  but  she 
started  up  the  steep  and  rocky  path  at  a  brisker  pace 
than  her  slim  legs  and  bare  feet  seemed  to  promise, 
and  was  soon  lost  to  view  bej^ond  the  clearing. 

Leaning  against  the  roof  post,  the  mother  stood 
long  and  qmetU',  looking  alter  her  under  the  hand 
that  shaded  her  e\'es  from  the  sunlight,  and  when  the 
hand  fell,  it  carried  the  corner  of  her  sleeve  back 
quickK'  to  dry  the  unaccustomed  tears.  Then,  with 
a  heavy  sigh,  the  woman  turned  to  a  bench  near  by, 
on  which  stood  a  dingy  washtub,  and  \vent  wearily 
about  her  slim  week's  washing. 

"The  labor  we  delight  in  physics  pain,"  Macbeth 
tells  us  ;  but  Lize  Holden'stask  seemed  to  carry  with 
it  little  joy  and  less  medicament  to  the  spirit.  Often 
the  thin  hands  were  still,  and  the  now  dull  eyes 
stared  vacantly  across  space,  seeing  nothing,  for 
their  vision  seemed  turned  inward ;  and  as  the  day 
grew  brighter,  the  3'ellow  hue  of  her  face  seemed 
deeper  and  more  dull,  taking  that  ashy  ochre  tint 
that  has  earned  most  Southern  mountaineers  the 
more  or  less  baseless  title  of  "clay-eaters."      But 


•1^-1  - 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  53 

Time  never  stops,  however  leaden  shod  seem  his  feet; 
and  it  was  well  approaching  noon — and  the  small 
wash  was  not  even  well  under  way — when  the  rustle 
of  bushes  and  the  patter  of  small  feet  startled  the 
woman  from  a  deep  da^^-dream.  Turning,  she  saw^ 
Sis  running  down  the  path,  breathless  and  swinging 
the  sunbonnet  as  a  signal,  though  not  of  peace. 

"Mammy!  Tha's  a-cummin'!"  the  elfish  courier 
cried,  while  still  at  a  distance.  "Th'  critter  cump'- 
ny's  a-cummin'!    I  seen  'em  ez  I  streck  th'  path !" 

"Did  yer  see  yer  dad.  Sis?"  the  mother  asked 
eagerly.     "  Did  yer  git  ter  grenpaw's  ?" 

"Naw  !  Them  soljers  cum  theat  a-way ;  an'  I  cum 
back  ter  warn  yer.  Mammy!" — the  midget  stood 
erect  and  shook  her  little  fist  toward  the  unseen 
enemy, — "I  wish  I  wuz  er  man!  I'd  tek  er  gun  an' 
bushwheck  ther  critter  cump'ny  wot's  a-chasin' 
dad!" 

Scarcely  were  the  words  spoken,  when  a  man  tore 
down  the  path  at  top  speed.  Coatless,  hatless  and 
nearly  barefoot,  he  ran  with  the  vigor  of  despera- 
tion, not  turning  to  one  of  the  many  gaps  in  the 
broken  fence,  but  taking  the  low  rails  before  him  in 
his  stride.  At  sight  of  him,  the  woman  gave  a  low 
scream;  pressing  both  hands  to  her  breast  as  she 
cried : 

"Hank,  ther  soljers  be  clus  by!  Run,  my  man! 
Run  fur  yer  life !" 

Next  moment  his  arms  were  about  her,  straining 
her  close  to  his  heart,  as  he  panted : 

"I  know't,  Lize!  I  ben  a-dodgin'  all  day,  tryin' 
ter  git  home.    But,  wen  Ifoun'myself  so  clus'  ter  ye, 


54  JOHN    HOLDEN.    UNIONIST.     ' 

I  cuddn't  help  reskin'  one  mo'  look  at  j^er,  gell! 
En'  ther  little  'un,  too!"  he  added,  with  a  little 
tremor  in  the  voice,  as  one  hard,  brown  hand  rested 
gently  on  the  red-straw  of  the  head,  which  the  girl 
hid  in  the  scant  skirts  of  her  mother,  to  which  she 
clung,  sobbing. 

"Run  an'  hide.  Hank!"  cried  the  terror-stricken 
wife,  as  the  distant  tramp  of  rapid-moving  hoofs 
caught  her  ear.  "  For  Gawd's  sake !  run,  my  man !" 
and  she  struggled  to  disengage  herself  from  the 
strong  arm  that  still  held  her  close. 

"I  will  run  an'  hide,  jess'  this  wunst,"  the  man 
answered,  coolly.  "I'll  do't  fur  yer  sake,  Lize.  I 
jes'll  fool  'em  wunst  mo',  an'  then — arter  one  look  at 
th'  kid's  grave — I'm  dun  o'hidin',  wunst  for  all!" 

With  one  kiss,  almost  fierce  in  its  farewell,  the 
hunted  man  released  the  trembling  woman.  Little 
time  he  had  to  spare,  as  he  darted  into  the  thickest 
brush,  for  the  sound  of  hoofs  advancing  at  brisk 
trot  was  close  at  hand,  and  the  noise  of  shout  and 
laughter  were  borne  plainly  to  her  ear.  An  instant 
more  and  the  column  passed  down  the  pathway, 
trotting  round  the  remnants  of  fence  and  drawing 
up  before  the  cabin. 

"Wot  be  you'uns  a  wantin'  yere?" asked  Lize  Hol- 
den,  as  she  stood  on  the  porch,  trembling  with 
excitement,  but  showing  no  lear.  "Yer  ben't  fitin' 
wimmin  en  gells,  be  ye?" 

"Don't  be  afraid,  my  good  woman,"  Shelby 
answered,  touching  his  cap.  "We  do  not  mean  to 
harm  vou." 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  55 

"Fear'd'  o'  wot?"  she  answered,  with  a  dismal 
failure  at  a  laugh.  "  Wj  shud  I  be  fear'd?  We'uns 
hez  seed  critter  cump'nys  of  n  nufF,  ter  git  kind  'o 
us't  ter  'em!" 

"I'm  glad  of  that,"  Shelby  answered,  scanning  her 
closely. 

"That's  a  pretty  little  girl  of  yours,"  Latham 
added,  as  if  for  something  to  say. 

"Glad  yer  think  so, "the  woman  answered, grimly, 
but  glad  to  gain  time  for  her  man.  "Mos'ly  ez  3'er 
hain't  seed  'er  face.  Ef  she  wuz  er  boy,  I  'sposeyer'd 
ca'ay  her  'long  ter  camp  an'  mek  her  fite  fur 
you'uns?" 

"Perhaps,"  the  lieutenant  rejoined.  **  'Nonebutthe 
brave  deserve  the  fair,'  however!" 

"Do  you  know  one  Hank  Holden,  who  lives  herea- 
bouts?" Shelby  asked  suddenly,  with  his  eyes  fixed 
on  the  woman's  face.  He  thought  the  yellow  of  her 
cheeks  grew  a  shade  lighter,  but  she  answered  quietly 
and  promptly : 

"Naw;  never  heer'd  on  enysech  name!" 

"But  his  'paw,'  who  lives  over  yonder,  told  us  we'd 
find  his  place  somewhere  near  here,"  the  trooper 
answered  quickly.  But  the  trap  failed  to  spring, 
and  the  woman  made  no  sign ;  only  turning  a  shade 
whiter,  as  she  bent  over  the  child,  now  clinging 
closer  to  her  with  a  great  sob. 

"There's  no  use  asking  questions  here,"  Latham 
ventured  to  his  senior.  "We're  only  losing  time,  if 
the  deserter  has  dared  to  come  home." 

"Right;  we  will  beat  every  bush  about  this  clear- 
ing," Shelby    answered,      "Squad,   dismount;    car- 


56  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

bines,  ready !  Sergeant,  divide  the  squads  and 
search  both  banks  of  the  creek!" 

The  men  obeyed  promptly,  every  three  throwing 
their  bridles  to  the  fourth  trooper;  then  dividing 
and  plunging  into  the  brush,  carbine  in  hand. 

"I  respect  your  pluck,  madam,"  the  captain  said 
bluntly,  lifting  his  cap  as  he  turned  to  follow.  "If 
we  catch  your  husband  we'll  bring  him  back  this  way 
before  we  carry  him  off." 

The  troo]3ers  searched  through  the  clearing,  and 
soon  were  heard  on  either  side  of  the  creek ;  shout 
and  oath  resounding  through  the  wood,  until  the 
sounds  of  search  died  into  distance.  Then  the  woman 
who  had  stood  still  and  firm  as  a  figure  in  yellow 
clay,  sank  on  her  knees,  lilting  her  drawn  face  to 
heaven  in  mute  supplication,  while  the  danger-aged 
girl  stood  by,  listening  intently  for  shot  or  signal. 
Neither  came;  and,  after  some  minutes,  the  mother 
rose  and  broke  the  dead  silence. 

"Sneak  down.  Sis,"  she  whispered,  "en  watch  out 
fur  yer  dad.  He  may  be  clus'  by  yit,  ef  he  hev  fool'd 
'em  agin !    Be  ca'lul,  gell,  en  not  too  bresh  !  " 

The  child  only  nodded,  creeping  toward  the  thicket 
and  pausing  often  to  watch  and  to  listen.  At  length 
she  parted  the  brush  and  stood  warily  on  the  very 
edge  of  the  stream.  The  only  sounds  coming  from 
the  woods  beyond  were  pipe  of  bird  and  hum  of 
insect,  no  longer  drowned  by  hint  of  "man's  inhu- 
manity to  man."  Nature,  in  her  gentlest  mood, 
seemed  bent  on  erasing  all  memory  of  her  recent 
tnvasion. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  57 

Yet  the  child  moves  but  slowly  up  the  bank,  paus- 
ing to  listen  ever}'  few  paces  ;  for  some  spy  might  yet 
be  lurking  in  the  cover.  But,  after  careful  search  con- 
vinces her  none  is  near,  she  leans  over  the  stream 
and  gives  the  same  owl-cry  signal  used  by  her  grand- 
sire  on  the  night  before.  Before  the  echo  dies  away 
a  fiurr\"  of  water  comes  from  a  rusty  old  log,  h'ing 
near  the  opposite  bank.  Then  the  log  moves,  and 
from  the  water  beneath  it,  appears  the  head  of  Hank 
Holden,  dripping  like  that  of  a  water-god.  Skilled 
in  the  art  elusive,  by  long  practice  and  close  escape, 
he  had  sunk  to  his  neck  in  water  and  thrust  his  head 
into  the  convenient — and   well  remembered — hollow 

log! 

"Lor',  dad!  Tharyerbe!"  cries  the  midget,  with 
as  near  approach  to  a  dance  of  triumph  as  she 
could  compass,  "en'  yer've  fooled  'em  wunst  mo' !  " 

"Yes,  m'  little  gell," replies  the  cheery  voice,  as  the 
man  wades  out  and  shakes  himself  like  a  New-found- 
land  dog.    "Yer've  got  a  dad  yit,  s'longez  he  lasts!  " 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  MOUNTAIN   DAISY. 

A  COMFORTABLE  looking  farm  house  in  any  of  the 
picturesque  coves  of  Sand  Mountain,  at  the  j)eriod  of 
this  chronicle,  presented  marked  contrast  to  the  war- 
harried  region  about  it;  and  the  cheery  home  on 
which  the  afternoon  sun  now  slanted  its  rays,  seemed 
a  veritable  oasis  in  the  dinnerless  desert  to  the  eyes 
of  weary  beholders. 

The  farm — seated  in  a  pleasant,  red-soiled  nook  that 
nestled  comfortably  under  the  gray  hill-crest  protect- 
ing it  from  the  north — showed  evidences  of  careful 
and  modern  cultivation,  while  the  barns  and  out- 
houses spoke  of  industrious  thrift.  The  main  dwel- 
ing  was  surrounded  on  all  sides  by  ample  and  roofed 
porch;  above  it  peered  the  peaked  gables  of  the  upper 
story,  from  the  windows  of  which  the  mountain 
breeze  flapped  faultless  dimity  curtains,  like  long 
white  flags  of  peace.  But,  dominating  the  roof,  was 
an  odd  structure,  which  a  first  glance  might  have 
mistaken  for  a  rack  to  dry  clothes. 

Closer  inspection,  however,  had  convinced  the 
observer  that  it  was  intended  for  a  lookout  station, 
as  the  stripling  son  of  the  lord  of  the  manor  was 
stretclied  upon  the  roofed  bench,  horn  in  hand,  to 

58 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  59 

sound  the  note  of  warning  were  man  or  woman  seen 
approaching  the  house.  For  Farmer  Freeman  was  a 
staunch  rebel,  and  by  entertainment  of  her' soldiery 
and  staunch  devotion  to  the  cause  of  the  South,  had 
made  himself  an  object  of  no  little  enmity  to  deserter 
and  bushwhacker,  as  well  as  to  the  less  openly  and 
practically  pronounced  adherents  ot  the  old  flag.  He 
lived  in  constant  expectation  of  attack;  kept  a  well 
supplied  arsenal  in  his  house ;  and  his  farm  hands — 
all  reliable,  but  aged  or  disabled  men — and  his  strip- 
ling boy  were  ever  ready  to  respond  to  a  call  to 
arms. 

But  on  this  perfect  summer  afternoon,  the  peaceful 
visitor  to  Freeman  Farm  would  have  found  all  as 
quiet  and  orderly  as  though  war  had  not  visited  the 
land.  The  old  farmer  and  all  hands  are  busy  in  the 
fields,  while  the  lowing  of  cattle  and  the  soft  clucking 
of  motherly  hens,  \vatching  pridefully  the  incursions 
of  ambitious  broods  into  new  loraging  territory, 
alone  break  the  stillness.  One  other  sound  comes 
from  time  to  time ;  the  pleasant  one  of  a  clear,  girl- 
ish voice,  cr^ang: 

"Chick,  chick!  Here  chick!  Ducky,  duckj^,  here!" 
Hens  and  chickens,  ducks  and  ducklings,  respond 
quickly  to  this  call,  while  even  the  lordly  rooster  and 
self-sufficient  turkey-cock  drop  their  tails,  and  their 
dignity  at  the  same  time,  all  centering  about  the 
graceful  figure  of  the  farmer's  daughter. 

Jen  Freeman,  as  she  stands  with  one  hand  scat- 
tering dampened  meal  and  the  other  supporting  on 
her  shapely  hip  a  great,  yellow^  crock,  may  not  seem 
a  beauty,  save  on  the  trite  basis  of  "handsome  is  as 


60  John  holden,  unioxist. 

handsome  does."  Far  less  is  there  anvthing  of  the 
heroine  about  the  girl;  but,  in  that  summer  of  1863, 
the  North  Alabama  farmer  was  indeed  fortunate, 
whose  barnyard  was  unstripped  of  poultry ;  and  this 
particular  farmer's  daughter  is  thankful  enough  to 
have  something  for  them  to  eat.  And  feeding 
chickens,  \vhile  perhaps  a  less  romantic  avocation 
than  caring  for  canaries,  may  yet  be  deemed  far  more 
useful. 

And  Jen  Freeman — so  all  who  know  her  avouch — 
is  a  useful  and  very  practical  ^^oung  ^voman. 
Brought  up  on  the  home  farm,  save  a  few  years  of 
"finishing"  at  a  seminary  of  Nashville,  life  has 
brought  her  so  far  no  illusions;  more  happily  still, 
none  of  what  is  misnamed  "romance."  Boys  she 
had  known  and  liked,  as  boj^s,  romping,  riding  and 
— be  not  shocked! — bird-nesting  with  them  ;  but  such 
intercourse  had  developed  healthful  muscle  rather 
than  unhealthful  sentimentalit\' ;  and  her  lungs  and 
her  conscience  are  both  rarely  sound. 

Novels  she  had  read ;  but  they  Avere  of  the  innocu- 
ous school  chosen  by  a  careful  father,  bereft  of  his 
helpmeet  during  the  young  girl's  childhood.  Well 
thumbed,  and  equally  well  remembered,  copies  of 
Maria  Edgeworth,  Mrs.  Southworth  and  Washing- 
ton Irving  still  flank  "the  Waverly,"  under  the  neat 
checked  curtain  of  the  book-shelves  in  her  sitting 
room.  "Marmion,"  Mrs.  Hemans,  and  especially 
Longfellow's  earlier  poems,  were  her  ideals  of  that 
divine  art;  nor  was  she  ignorant  of  Campbell  and 
Gray's  "Eleg\\"  But  Jen  Freeman  had  no  preten- 
sion to  being  well-read,  if  indeed  she  knew  that  much 


JOHN    H OLDEN,   UNIONIST.  61 

abused  term.  She  had  only  read  well  what  books 
good  fortune  had  placed  in  her  hands;  digesting  at 
leisure  all  she  swallowed,  and  remaining  wholU'  Iree 
from  even  a  soupcon  of  mental  dyspepsia. 

Does  this  indicate  that  she  was  a  vara  avis?  Then 
were  the  Southern  hills  of  that  day  productive  of 
many  a  "sable  swan."  Through  her  practical  and 
prosaic  life  of  farm-house  duty — later  deeply  under- 
scored by  war's  privations  and  alarms — day-dreams 
had  doubtless  come  to  her ;  and  through  them  may 
have  shone,  half  understood,  gleams  of 

"The  light  that  never  was  on  sea,  or  land." 

What  girl  of  eighteen,  in  healthful  country  air,  or  city 
forcing-house,  but  has  built  her  castles  in  the  air? 
Jen  Freeman's  were  of  that  card-house  structure 
which  toppled  down,  turret  and  foundation,  at  the 
first  touch  of  matter-of-fact  realism  ;  and  no  gloomy 
regrets  hung  about  their  ruins.  There  are  few  Prince 
Charmings  in  North  Alabama  mountains  at  their 
best,  and  now,  all  of  them  had  ridden  away  to 
the  war.  So,  as  yet,  the  moimtain  daisy  only  knew 
that  she  possessed  a  heart  b}-  its  quicker  palpitation 
after  a  run,  or  on  the  approach  of  the  blue-coated 
raiders. 

That  she  is  pretty, — indeed,  possessed  of  large  pos- 
sibilities of  beauty, — her  white  draped  mirror  tells 
her  each  time  those  shy,  brown  eyes  look  from  it 
honestly  into  her  own  ;  while  short,  clustering  curls 
of  ruddy  gold — red  in  the  sun,  brown  in  the  shadow — 
shade  her  rosy  cheeks  and  her  nose,  a  trifle  turned 
up.    Nor  is  it  "tip-tilted,  like  the  petal  of  a  flower;" 


62  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

for  truly  that  piquant  and  expressive  feature  is  some- 
what browned  by  mountain  sun,  and  not  wholly 
unsplashed  with  freckles  by  the  health-giving  breeze. 

Dainty  and  attractive,  even  in  her  simple  frock  and 
stout  shoes,  she  is  the  more  attractive  from  uncon- 
sciousness of  both ;  and  the  refinement  of  movement 
and  gesture — showing  as  the  brown,  but  small,  hands 
nimbly  ply  their  useful  work — is  that  born  solely  of 
pure,  womanly  nature.  There  is  no  hint  of  that 
meretricious  substitute — mock-turtle  soup  of  manner 
— too  often  produced  by  the  finishing  school,  and 
made  consomme  by  society  conventionality. 

But,  to  come  back  to  farm-yard  reality,  Jen  Free- 
man is  feeding  her  chickens,  innocent  of  thought  that 
any  possible  Prince  Charming  is  riding  down  to 
meet  her;  that  the  blind  goddess — who  truly  should 
have  been  the  mother  of  Master  Cupid — is  throwing 
two  young  people  into  that  propinquity  which  is  so 
apt  to  do  the  rest.  For,  let  poets  sing  what  the}^  may 
of  Master  Cupid,  the  true  torch-bearers  to  the  Hymen 
of  to-day  are  named  Propinquity  and  Chance! 

Suddenly,  from  the  roof  lookout,  comes  a  horn 
blast  more  sonorous  than  musical;  and  Jen  — 
stopping  with  fear-arrested  hand  still  full  of  meal — 
turns  'ler  bright  face  curiously  to  the  sound,  as  she 
calls : 

"What  is  it,  Will?    Yanks?" 

"Soldiers  !  Our'n,  I  think !  "  responded  the  youth- 
ful warder.     "Yes,  they're  gray,  sho'!" 

The  girl  ran  to  a  little  knoll  beyond,  commanding 
equal  view  of  fields  and  road,  seized  a  little  white 
flag  and  waved  it  high  over  her  head.     Her  act 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  63 

arrested  the  flurry  of  the  \vorking  men,  each  of  whom 
had  dropped  his  hoe  and  turned  toward  the  house. 
The\^  quietly  resumed  work,  only  the  master  of  the 
place  coming  on  toward  the  knoll,  whence  his  daugh- 
ter now  peered  eagerly  up  the  curving  descent  of  the 
steep  hillside. 

Ere  he  joined  her,  the  column  hove  in  sight  round 
the  turn  nearest  the  great  gate ;  the  farmer  went 
straight  toward  it,  and  Miss  Jen  discreetly  returned 
to  her  chickens — whether  counting  them  prematurely, 
or  not,  some  pretended  judge  of  woman  may  divine. 

The  horsemen  moved  slowly  down ;  jaded,  unfed 
beast  and  weary  man  alike  seeming  unfit  for  rapid 
movement.  But  revived  by  the  peaceful  and  inviting 
aspect  of  the  farm,  and  by  that  hope  of  supper  which 
springs  eternal  in  the  young  cavalryman's  breast, 
Mr.  Beverly  Latham  gathered  his  horse,  resettled 
himself  in  saddle  and  grew  blithe  again,  as  he 
remarked : 

"An  oasis — or  a  mirage !  But  unless  you  assure  me, 
Cap.,  that  this  farmer  is  a  sound  old  reb,  hanged  if  I 
don't  'dissart'  and  join  our  slippery  friend,  Hank 
Holden,  in  hiding!" 

"The  Confed.  need  not  lose — sha'n't  lose  you  yet, 
Bev.,"  his  senior  answered.  "Farmer  Freeman  is  not 
only  a  staunch  patriot,  but  a  personal  friend  of  mine ; 
and  his  daughter's  kitchen — " 

"Jephthah  of  old — "  the  lieutenant  interrupted  his 
senior,  only  to  interrupt  himself,  as  the  farmer  swung 
the  great  gate  wide  and  ran  out  into  the  sandy 
avenue  they  had  just  reached. 


64«  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"Welcome!  Ride  in,  boys!"  he  cried,  heartily,  as 
the  column  halted.  "How  are  you,  Shelby?  Glad 
am  I  to  see  ye'!  The  sight  of  the  gray  is  good  for 
sore  eyes  in  this  God-forsaken  country !  Ride  in  an' 
'light !  "  He  reached  out  a  brown  hand  and  warmly 
shook  the  captain's,  as  he  added:  "But  the  beasts 
look  'bout  done  up.  Care  for  your  horses,  men,  and 
then  I'll  care  for  you.  Ride  right  in — your  boys 
know,  Shelby;  the  well-^^ard,  to  the  right!  " 

"Thank   \'Ou,    Mr.    Freeman,"   Shelby  answered 
returning  the  hand  shake  cordially.     "You   are   as 
whole-souled  and  true  hearted  as  ever,  I  see.     Let  me 
introduce  mj-  lieutenant,  a  new  officer  in  these  parts ; 
Mr.  Latham,  ot  Virginia." 

"Glad  to  welcome  you,  leftenant,  for  your  gray 
coat  and  true  heart  under  it,"  the  farmer  responded. 
"Stillmore  glad,  as  you're  a  Virginian!  Great  state, 
sir;  mother  of  presidents!  But,  'light,  gentlemen; 
Jerr\%  here,  '11  care  for  your  horses,  while  the  men  feed 
theirs.  Come  into  the  house,  and  have  a  wash  and 
a   drop  of  apple  jack  !  " 

Soon — the  stains  of  a  hard  day 's  march  removed  and 
a  long  day's  hungerfresh-edgedby  anipof  goodapple 
brandy — the  officers  followed  their  host  to  the  well- 
vard.  Brief  inspection  was  needed.  The  well-rubbed 
beasts  were  already  munching  contentedly  such 
provender  as  was  rare  to  their  tastes;  and  the  men, 
ranged  on  the  long  benches,  were  eating  with  true 
soldiers'  appetite  the  inviting  combread  and  clean, 
crisp  meat,  promptly  ordered  to  them  by  Aliss  Jen's 
forethought.  Laughter  and  chaff  resounded,  not 
stopped,  under  lax   discipline   of  those  days,  by  the 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  65 

officers'  approach;  for  tlie  Confederate  scouters 
thereabout  who  could  stop  at  Freeman  Farm  all 
kne^^  that  the  lines  had  to  them  fallen  in  pleasant 
places. 

"You  certainly  are  a  trump,  Mr.  Freeman !  "  Shelby 
exclaimed.  "You'd  give  your  last  crumb  to  the 
boys." 

"Well,  I  hope  never  to  be  put  to  that  test,"  the 
farmer  rejoined,  heartily.  "But,  'tell  then,  they're 
welcome  to  share  v^hat  I  have." 

"  And,  really,  those  fellows  seem  awfully  hungry, 
Mr.  Freeman,"  Latham  remarked,  with  a  sly  tug  at 
his  belt  buckle.  "  One  might  guess  that  the  beggars 
had  eaten  no  breakfast !  " 

"By  gum !  I  forgot,"  the  old  man  rejoined,  with  a 
jovial  laugh.  " Shelby  told  me  he  hadn't  'fed  for  a 
week,'  so  come  back  to  the  house.  Jen  '11  row  me 
anyway,  if  her  supper  gets  cold !  " 

Briskly  the  hungry  officers  followed  their  host  back 
to  the  house,  crossingthe broad  porch  into  the  quaint 
sittingroom,with  its  stiff  legged,  horse-hair  sofas  and 
chairs,  prim  book  shelves  and  impossible  portraits. 
But  the  touches  of  a  tasteful  woman's  hand  modern- 
ized its  general  aspect,  setting  a  fancy  cushion  here,  a 
potted  plant  there,  and  looping  back  the  faultlessly 
white  curtains  with  jaunty  bows  of  blue  ribbon. 
Against  the  wall  stood  a  stiff,  spindle  shanked  piano 
— an  upright,  of  uncertain  age,  with  yellow  keys  sug- 
gestive of  quavering  tone.  But  it  stood  open ;  and 
music  on  the  rack  showed  that  its  mistress  kept  it  for 
use  rather  than  ornament. 


66  JOHN    HOLDEN,-  UNIONIST. 

And  that  mistress  stood  attheopen  porch  window, 
fresh,  simple,  and  smiling  cordial  welcome,  with  the 
natural  grace  of  her  slim  figure  enhanced  bj  hospita- 
ble haste  to  feed  the  hungry. 

"Jen,  my  dear,  you  know  Cap'n  Shelby.  Let  me 
introduce  Leftenant  Latham, —  of  Virginia,— a  new- 
comer, but  mighty  welcome.  This  is  my  little  house- 
keeper, sir ;  the  apple  of  my  eye  and  the  best  little 
girl — if  I  do  say  it  myself^'tween  the  Gulf  of  Mexico 
and  Tennessee  river! " 

The  smiling  face  turned  to  the  captain,  and.  the 
extended  hand  that  had  warmly  ^velcomed  him, 
turned  at  the  father's  overfond  praise  toward  the 
stranger.  On  the  face  the  flush  of  health  and  pleasure 
deepened  a  shade,  and  the  han^  fell,  giving  place  to 
a  pretty  courtesy,  as  the  girl's  eyes  met  those  of  the 
younger  soldier.  In  them  was  a  look  of  w^ondering 
inquiry,  plainly  dominated  by  warm  admiration.  For 
Beverly  Latham's  thoughts  had  been  more  intent 
upon  the  cravings  of  his  stomach  than  of  his  heart; 
and  any  stray  speculation  about  another  girl — "with 
freckles,  red-hair,  pug  nose  and  a  dirty  sunbonnet — " 
had  promptly  fled  from  his  brain  when  the  farmer 
mentioned  the  long-craved  supjDcr.  The  nose  before 
him  now  was  perh^J^  a  pug ;  but  its  owner  was 
plainly  a  lady,  and  a  graceful,  Vv'insome  one,  besides. 
So  the  young  trooper  stared  with  rather  plain  sur- 
prise, as  he  made  his  best  bow ;  and — for  the  instant 
— even  thought  of  supper  fled. 

"I  am  cordially  glad  to  see  you,  too,  Mr.  Latham," 
the  girl  said  frankly  and  simply,  but  the  gratified 
curving  of  the  youth's  mustache  halted  in  mid-twist, 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  67 

as  she  added  nai'veh^.:  *'for  you  wear  the  gray 
jacket,  so  dear,  while  so  rare,  among  us.  We  must 
shake  hands,  too,  for  I  welcome  3'ou  as  a  friend — 
although  a  stranger." 

Nothing  could  have  been  neater  than  the  girl's 
manner  and  her  words,  as  she  extended  her  hand 
frankly.  But,  society-  had  not  yet  tempered  the 
youth's  bearing  into  full  discretion ;  and  surprised 
pleasure  caused  so  warm  a  pressure  of  the  tanned, 
but  slim,  fingers,  that  Miss  Jen's  color  deepened  a 
bit,  as  she  hastily  withdrew  them  from  his  reluctant 
clasp. 

"Come,  papa,"  she  said,  promptly  moving  forward 
with  Shelby,  "your  supper  will  be  cold,  and  I  pre- 
sume 3'our  guests  are  hungry." 

"We  are  not,  Miss  Freeman!"  Latham  cried, 
recovering  from  the  gaucherie  of  surprise.  "We  are 
simph'  ravenous !  I  admit  it  in  advance,  to  warn 
\'ou  of  what  your  own  penetration  would  soon  dis- 
cover. Captain  Shelby  has  already  told  your  father 
that  we  have  not  had  what  our  men  call  *a  square 
meal'  for  a  week!" 

The  girl  showed  even,  w^hite  teeth  between  the  red 
lips  that  threw  him  the  repl^^  over  her  shoulder : 

"I'm  so  glad,  Mr.  Latham!  Then  you  will  not 
criticise  m}'  shortcomings  as  a  housekeeper." 

For  many  a  week  the  troopers  had  not  sat  down 
to  so  neat  a  table,  or  so  lavishly  spread  with  every 
luxury  possible  to  that  isolated  region,  in  those  days 
of  privation  to  all  and  of  penury  to  the  many.  And 
to  one  of  them  the  zest  of  healthy  appetite,  long 
unsatisfied,  was  added  to  no  little  by  the  frank  and 


68  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

cordial  talk  of  both  father  and  daughter,  aided  by 
the  winning  smile  and  quietly  sweet  voice  of  the 
latter. 

Under  the  warmth  of  their  welcome  and  the  com- 
fort of  that  home,  the  soldiers  forgot  war  and  trial; 
gathering,  while  they  might,  the  roses  that  Fortune 
strewed  in  their  path. 

"I  really  envy  you,  Mr.  Freeman,"  Latham  said, 
after  masticatory  silence  and  writh  a  mouth  not 
wholly  empty,  as  he  passed  his  plate  for  a  third  half 
of  a  fried  chicken.  "You  make  us  forget  there  is  a 
war,  your  home  is  so  happy  and  peaceful." 

"Not  so  peaceful  as  you  might  suppose,"  Jen 
answered,  brightly.  "  Don't  you  know  that  we  have 
been  attacked  several  times  by  bushwhackers ;  and 
that  papa  keeps  a  standing  army  of  his  own?" 

"Yes;  but  my  little  girl  won't  hear  to  leaving  me, 
leftenant,"  the  proud  parent  answered.  "Even  w^hen 
her  aunt  in  Wilmington  writes  to  urge  her  to  pay  a 
long  visit." 

"How  could  I  go?"  the  girl  cried,  growing  grave 
at  once.  "I'm  not  one  bit  afraid  here,  Captain 
Shelby;  but,  were  I  away  from  papa,  I  should  have 
constant  dread  of  his  meeting  the  fate  of  our  poor 
neighbor,  old  Simpson." 

"And  what  did  the  bloody  rascals  do  to  him?" 
Shelby  asked,  soldiery  coming  back  after  hunger  was 
appeased. 

"I  will  tell  3^ou  over  our  pipes,  on  the  gallery,"  the 
host  replied,  as  they  rose  from  table  and  moved 
toward  the  sitting  room.  There  Miss  Jen  lit  the  oil 
lamp,    not     accepting    proffered     assistance    from 


JOllN    riOLDEN.    UNIONIST.  65 

Latham,  and  her  father  took  corncob  pipes  from  the 
mantel,  filHng  them  from  a  fat  tobacco  jar.  Soon 
two  pipes  glowed  on  the  gallerj^,  under  the  fast-fall- 
ing darkness,  as  their  perfume  wafted  out  into  the 
leaf  scented  air  of  night. 

But  the  junior  officer  lingered  within,  turning  the 
music  on  the  piano  rack,  by  way  of  a  talk  motor,  as 
he  said : 

"I  hope  I  am  not  detaining  you  from  household 
duties,  Miss  Freeman.  If  I  am,  give  me  marching 
orders  for  the  galler^^ ;  but — you  sing,  do  you  not?" 

"A  little;  and  I  just  love  to!"  the  girl  answered, 
frankly.  "Of  course,  I  am  pretty  busy  alter  supper 
awhile;  but  I'll  try  and  amuse  you  with  a  song, 
first — if  you  wish." 

"I  certainly  do  wish,"  the  youth  answered,  wnth 
emphasis,  and  not  without  a  long  look  of  evident 
admiration  at  the  girl's  face.  "I,  too,  love  music; 
and  something  tells  me  that  we  are  congenial." 

But  the  mountain  girl,  busy  over  her  music,  never 
caught  the  meaning  in  his  glance ;  and,  if  she  noticed 
that  in  the  tone  he  used,  she  showed  no  desire  to  accept 
its  challenge  to  quick  flirtation.  She  calmly  arranged 
the  leaves,  ran  her  brown  fingers  easily  across  the 
keys ;  then  sang,  in  a  full  and  pleasant,  but  quite 
untrained,  soprano,  "When  the  dew  is  on  the 
blossom."  Then,  unasked  and  naturally,  she  broke 
into  "Wild  roved  an  Indian  Maid,  bright  Alfarata," 
giving  the  whole  biography  and  habitat  of  that 
dusky  maiden,  while  the  young  soldier  kept  time 
with  his  unlit  pipe,  and  his  eyes  showed  more  admi- 


70  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST, 

ration  of  the  girl's  graceful  figure,  than  delight  at  her 
music. 

"That  young  woman  had  found  'roving'  rather 
ri.sky  hereabouts,  just  now,"  he  said,  as  she  finished. 
It  was  the  perfunctory  speech  of  the  listener,  expected 
to  say  something ;  for  the  man's  own  taste  was  not 
uncultivated;  and  his  sister  at  home  was  a  real 
musician. 

"You  don't  like  my  songs!  "  The  girl  looked  up 
at  him  frankly,  a  smile  oil  her  lips  and  dancing  in  her 
brown  eyes.  "I  find  they  go  more  nicely  with  most 
visitors  than  my  own  kind  of  music. — Oh  !  how  mean 
of  you!"  she  cried,  suddenly,  flushing  as  she  spoke. 
"You  ought  to  have  told  me  you  were  a  musician !  " 

"I  came  from  George  Washington's  state;  and  'I 
cannot  tell  a' — thumper  like  that,"  Latham  laughed 
back.     "I  love  music;  but  I  onW  hum  a  little." 

"Sit  right  down,  then,"  Miss  Jen  ordered,  saucily, 
"and  'hum  a  little'  for  me!  Now,  don't  be  mean 
again— p /ease  .^"  she  added  as  she  rose  and  pointed 
to  the  horse-hair  music-stool. 

"But  I  cannot  play,"  he  protested,  shaking  his 
head.     "I  do  not  know  a  note." 

"If  they're  simple,  maybe  I  know  the  accom- 
paniments," Jen  said,  doubtfully.  "What  do  you 
sing?     Honor  bright,  Mr.  Latham,  or  you're  mean." 

"'Beloved  Star,' — or  'Eveline,' — perhaps — " 

' '  I  know  them  both !  What  key  ?  "  Miss  Jen  broke 
in,  clapping  her  hands ;  and  soon  the  youth's  rich, 
mellow  baritone  trolled  out  all  about,  "Thou  art  so 
near  and  yet  so  far !  " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST,  71 

The  girl  listened  with  flushed  cheeks  and  sparkling 
ej^es,  to  a  different  voice  and  more  tasteful  method 
than  any  she  recalled.  Then,  asking  no  permission, 
she  played  the  prelude  of  "Eveline,"  then  so  popular 
in  Virginia. 

The  grassy  mound  has  long  rested  on  well-loved 
lips  that  made  that  song  familiar,  round  artillery 
camp  fires  of  the  mother  state  ;  brave  lips  and  tender, 
that  thundered  the  command  in  hottest  flashes  of 
the  battle,  or  softened  to  plaint  in  the  wooing  notes 
of  song.  Better  music  they  may  write  and  sing 
to-day;  none  better  worth  recalling,  when  coupled 
with  the  ever-svsreet  memory  of  the  gallant  soldier, 
sleeping  so  well  after  life's  fitful  fever ! 

And  now,  his  j^oung  namesake  sang,  with  more 
expression  than  before;  and  Jen  Freeman's  face 
flushed  deeper  at  the  words : 

"Could  affection  make  election — 
Could  my  heart  but  choose  its  queen; 
One  maid  alone  should  hold  the  throne, 
And  her  sweet  name  is — Eveline!" 

*'  Oh,  thank  you !  "  she  cried,  with  sparkling  eyes  as 
his  voice  died  away.  ' '  You  sing  so  well,  Mr.  Latham. 
Please  try  another." 

"I  fear  you  have  exhausted  my  repertoire,"  he 
answered,  "unless  you  know — "  He  named  several 
songs,  that  had  not  found  their  way  to  this  moun- 
tain nook;  so  the  girl  shook  her  head  dolefully,  at 
each. 

"But  to  show  I  do  thank  you,  I'll  sing  you  my 
pet  song,"  she  said,  naturally;  adding  with  a  smile: 
"No,  it's  not  another  ' Lorena ' ;  it  was  mamma's 


72  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

favorite,  the  only  one  I  remember  hearing  her  sing. 
You  must  know  it." 

Her  face  grew  graver,  as  she  played  the  prelude. 
Then,  in  better  voice  than  before,  with  far  more 
feeling  and  delicacy  than  he  had  suspected,  she  sang 
Schubert's  "Last  Greeting."  Then  she  rose,  half 
reluctantly. 

"I  must  send  you  out  to  papa  now,"  she  said. 
"You  know  I  am  housekeeper;  but  I'll  join  you 
gentlemen  as  soon  as  I  can." 

"It  will  seem  long  to  me,  however  you  hasten 
those  duties,"  Latham  began,  in  his  best  city  man- 
ner. But  the  lithe  figure  of  the  girl  was  already 
moving  about  the  table  beyond,  and  the  clatter  of 
dishes  was  the  sole  response.  With  a  smile  at  him- 
self and  a  loving  twist  of  his  mustache,  the  cavalry- 
man sauntered  out  on  the  gallery,  and  lit  his  long- 
forgotten  pipe. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

A  SHOT  IN  THE  DARK. 

"The  blood-thirsty  devils!"  Shelby  was  saying. 
"I'd  like  to  catch  them  at  such  a  game  once!  Latham, 
Mr.  Freeman  is  telling  me  about  a  hideous  outrage 
near  here." 

"Yes,"  the  farmer  answered,  removing  the  pipe 
from  his  mouth,  "old  man  Simpson  lived  about  ten 
miles  from  here,  on  the  Guntersville  road.  He  was  a 
quiet,  hard-working  old  fellow,  minded  his  own 
business  and  never  pestered  his  neighbors  about 
politics.  One  day  he  caught  a  mean  cuss  that 
worked  round  his  place  stealing  his  meat,  and  sent 
him  about  his  business.  Just  for  revenge,  that  skunk 
started  the  rumor  that  Simpson  had  gold  buried 
under  his  house.  You  know,  of  course,  captain,  that 
the  deserters  and  bushwackers  round  this  section 
are  banded  together  in  a  sort  of  irregular  army, 
under  an  outlaw  named  Hess,  that  they  call  gen- 
eral." 

"Yes,  I  have  a  description  of  Hess,"  Shelby 
answered,  "and  I  propose  hunting  up  his  headquar- 
ters, soon." 

"And  I  needn't  remind  you,"  Freeman  resumed, 
"what  cruel  and  relentless  devils  these  bushwackers 


74  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

are.  They'd  btirn  a  house  they  had  plundered  for 
very  wantonness;  and  they'd  shoot  a  man  from  the 
bush— Confed.,  or  Federal,  alike— for  the  chance  of 
getting  his  hat  or  his  shoes.  They  respect  neither 
friend  nor  foe,  and  only  necessity  of  personal  safety 
holds  them  together." 

"And  the  fact  that  they  have  nothing  to  steal," 
Latham  added.  "Else  they'd  bushwhack  one 
another,  just  to  keep  their  hands  in." 

"I  know  the  gentry  pretty  well,"  the  captain  said, 
quietly,  from  behind  a  cloud  of  smoke.  "They  are  of 
the  same  breed,  all  along  the  Cumberland  range.  I 
ran  their  gauntlet  last  year  m3'self  " 

"How?  We  never  heard  you  speak  of  that," 
Latham  said,  with  interested  curiosity. 

"  No,  it  was  only  one  of  a  hundred  cases,  and  before 
you  joined,"  the  captain  answered.  "I  was  captured 
and  carried  to  Southern  Ohio.  Prisoners  were  in  the 
way;  meat  was  scarce ;  and  drumhead  court-martial 
w^as  the  easiest  solution  of  the  problem.  Several  of 
our  men  had  been  reported  hung  as  spies — or  'lost' 
on  the  road.  I  was  tried  by  a  trumped-up  court,  a,nd 
the  verdict  was  a  foregone  certainty.  I  did  not  care 
to  w^ait  for  hearing  it,  and  that  night  I  w^as  fortu- 
nate enough  to  escape.  In  hiding  the  next  day,  a  rel- 
ative gave  me  a  horse,  a  splendid  Kentucky  thor- 
oughbred, and  by  night  I  dodged  the  pickets  and  rode 
into  Kentucky.  But  the  bushwhackers  were  thicker 
in  Southern  Kentucky  than  the  Federals,  arid  they 
were  even  more  dangerous  to  meet'.  I  dared  not 
show  on  any  road  by  day.  I'd  have  been  shot  from 
the  bush,  for  the  sake  of  my  horse,  to  a  dead  cer- 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  75 

tainty.  So,  I  hid  all  day,  and  that  night  I  rode  a  full 
hundred  miles,  'twixt  dusk  and  dawn,  straight 
through  the  hornet's  nest !  " 

"  By  gum  I  that  was  splendid  !  "  cried  the  host. 

"Hardly— for  the  horse!"  the  trooper  replied, 
drily. 

"  What  became  of  him  ?  "  Latham  asked. 

"I  signaled  Morgan's  pickets  at  the  river,"  Shelby 
answered.  "They  sent  a  boat  across,  and  I  had 
scarcely  boarded  her,  when  one  of  the  men  bantered 
me  for  a  trade.  His  beast  was  a  sorr}^,  half-starved 
one, but  I  closed  at  once,  as  he  was  stuck  on  mine." 

"That  was  very  grateful  of  you!"  the  farmer 
cried. 

"Very — indeed,"  Shelby  returned,  slowly;  and  he 
blew  a  long,  blue  cloud,  and  watched  it  rise,  as  he 
added,  meditatively :  "We  swapped  while  my  horse 
was  warm.  I  guess  he  was  stiff  as  bar  iron,  next 
day ;  but  I — was  at  headquarters  then."  "••' 

Farmer  Freeman  only  gave  a  significant  grunt,  as 
he  refilled  his  pipe.     Then  he  resumed : 

"Well,  Hess  and  his  gang  got  hold  of  the  gold 
rumor.  They  attacked  Simpson's  house  one  night, 
seized  the  old  man  and  tied  him  up  by  the  thumbs, 
demanding  his  gold.  In  vain  the  poor  old  fellow 
swore  that  he  had  none.  Them  scoundrels,  under 
orders  of  their  head-devil,  Hess,  set  fire  to  the  house 
and  rode  away,  leaving  Simpson  tied  at  his  own 
door !     He  was  literally  roasted  alive !  " 

"  Great  heavens !  "  the  lieutenant  exclaimed.  "What 
devils  incarnate  these  outlaws  must  be !  " 


''Fact;  the  escape,  ride  and  trade  of  a  Confederate  captain. 


76  John  holden,  tJNioNis't. 

"Not  all  of  them,"  the  farmer  answered,  "but  a 
right  smart  sprinklin'  of  'em,  anyway." 

"I  hope,  Cap.,  that  we'll  get  a  chance  at  this  Gen- 
eral Hess  before  we're  ordered  to  rejoin,"  the  junior 
officer  said.  "  Nothing  would  please  me  better  than 
giving  him  a  show  of  his  own  tactics  !  " 

"Have  you  any  positive  facts,  Mr.  Freeman,  as  to 
the  present  whereabouts  of  Hess  and  his  gang?  "  the 
captain  asked. 

As  the  w^ords  came,  a  flash  was  seen  in  the  darkness 
in  front  of  them ;  and  simultaneously  a  bullet  buried 
itself  in  the  boards,  just  between  the  farmer's  head 
and  that  of  the  speaker. 

"Seems  to  me,"  Freeman  answered  coolly,  as  he 
rose  from  his  chair,  "that  some  o'  the  gang  ain't  so 
very  far  away  from  here !  " 

A  rush  of  men  from  the  well-yard  toward  the  sound 
followed  the  shot ;  the  woods  about  the  house  were 
carefully  beaten,  but  no  trace  of  an  enemy  could  be 
found,  and  the  soldiers  were  recalled.  At  the  porch, 
as  they  returned,  the  officers  found  Miss  Jen,  quiet 
and  unflurried  as  though  no  unusual  excitement  had 
arisen. 

"I  hope  3'ou  were  not  much  frightened.  Miss  Free- 
man," Latham  called,  before  the  other  could  speak. 

"I  was  not  frightened  at  all,"  the  girl  answered 
simply.  "The  house  has  been  shot  at  twice  before, 
but  papa  says  it  is  only  wantonness.  But  to-night, 
it  must  have  been  a  chance  passer,  or  he  would  have 
known  we  were  better  protected  than  ever." 

"You  should  be  a  soldier.  Miss  Jen,"  Shelby  said, 
gallantly.      "Your  coolness  would  shame  many  a 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  77 

trooper's.  But  to-morro-w  we  will  visit  the  head- 
quarters of  this  late-moving  general.  We  must  move 
early — so,  good-night,  Miss  Jen." 

"I  will  be  up  when  you  wake,"  the  girl  answered, 
as  she  lit  a  home-made  candle,  in  an  old  time  china 
stick,  and  handed  it  to  her  father.  "  Papa  will  show 
you  your  room  ;  pleasant  dreams." 

"Dovou  induls^e  in  dreams.  Miss  Freeman?"  the 
lieutenant  asked,  pausing  in  the  window,  near  her. 
He  had  been  out  in  the  darkness  of  the  porch,  seem- 
ingly examining  the  hole  made  by  the  bullet. 

"Not  often,  Mr.  Latham,"  she  answered,  naturally. 
"I  work  so  hard,  after  rising  so  early,  that  I  gener- 
ally sleep  too  soundly  for  dreams." 

"So  do  I,"  the  youth  replied,  gaily.  "Either  my 
conscience  is  too  good,  or  I  have  none  at  all ;  so  the 
people  of  air  whisk  by  me  unnoted.  But  perhaps  I 
will  dream — to-night." 

"Of  what?"  she  asked,  innocently.  "Of  General 
Hess?" 

"Of  a  far  more  dangerous  theme — to  me!"  the 
youth  replied,  with  w^hat  he  supposed  an  intense 
glance,  but  not  forgetting  a  dainty  twirl  of  his  mus- 
tache. "Can  you  not  imagine  reason  for  my 
dreams?  " 

"Indeed,  I  cannot,"  she  began,  naively,  "unless  it 
was  your — "  She  stopped,  blushing,  looking  down 
in  some  confusion. 

"Go  on!  Please  finish!  Unless  it  was  my  — 
what?"  Lieutenant  Latham  urged,  with  more 
earnestness  than  the  occasion  seemed  to  warrant. 
^^ Please  finish   your  sentence!      I  beg  it  as  a  favor." 


78  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"I  cannot!  Don't  ask  me!  "  Jen  retorted, growing 
deeper  red  and  holding  out  her  hand — "Good-night! 
— and  p!easant  dreams,  if  any." 

"Good-night,  then."  Latham  took  the  out- 
stretched hand  deferentially,  and  held  it  while  he 
added:  "You  might  gratify  my  wish  and  tell  me 
the  word  you  omitted.  You  will  not  ?  Then  good- 
night.    I  will  see  you  to  say  good-bj^e." 

He  moved  toward  the  stairs,  following  the  others. 
And  Jen  Freeman,  absently  arranging  the  music  and 
closing  the  piano,  heaved  a  rather  petulant  sigh,  as 
she  said  to  herself: 

"I'm  just  too  awkward  for  anj^thing!  I  never 
will  have  what  aunty  calls  tact!  Oh!  I  do  wonder 
if  he  guessed?  And  besides,  poor  fellow  —  it  wasn't 
so  bad.     He  hadn't  eaten  before,  all  da3^" 

In  their  room — good-nights  spoken  and  the  farmer's 
firm  tread  echoing  down  the  stair — the  future  troop 
commander  remarked : 

"Rather  nice  people.  Cap.,  these  friends  of  yours. 
And  his  daughter — " 

"Has  a  pug  nose,  and  wears  freckles  and  a  sun- 
bonnet,"  the  senior  cut  in,  as  he  kicked  off  his  long, 
rusty  boots.  "But  let's  turn  in,  Bev.  We  must 
start  early  to  catch  General  Hess  at  home." 

"Cap.,  I  rather  imagine  we  should  look  for  our 
bad  marksman  of  to-night  nearer  than  Hess' ranch," 
the  youngster  said,  suddenh'. 

"Why,  what  do  you  mean,  Bev.?  " 

"Only  that  the  Holden  family  owe  us  a  return 
visit  in  ordinary  courtesy,  Cap.     I  dug  this  out  of 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  79 

the  plank," — lie  rolled  a  flattened  bullet  on  the  floor 
toward  his  chief, — "  and  it  fits  a  hunting  rifle !  " 

"By  Jove!  you're  right, my  boy,"  the  captain  said, 
examining  his  sub's  trophy.  "We'll  keep  our  eyes 
on  the  'loyalist,'  too.     Thanks  for  the  hint." 

But  it  did  not  affect  the  captain's  nerves,  for  in 
five  minutes  he  was  snoring  with  the  regularity,  and 
with  much  the  rattle,  too,  of  file-firing.  But  not  so 
Mr.  Latham.  Half  disrobed,  he  moved  to  the  win- 
dow^, watching  the  moon  as  her  pale  yellow  disc 
popped  over  the  north  acclivity,  as  yet  only  silvering 
the  tallest  of  the  tree  tops. 

Possibly  to  the  discredit  of  his  soldierly  zeal  it  w^as, 
that  he  rather  regretted  the  good  condition  of  the 
rested  and  well-fed  horses  he  had  examined  after  the 
bootless  hunt  just  passed.  Nor  is  it  wholly  flatter- 
ing to  his  sentiment  that  memories  of  the  late  sup- 
per mingled  with  those  of  Jen  Freeman's  pleasant 
face  and  unmarred  naturalness,  as  swift  changes 
followed  each  other  in  his  brain.  Then  came  mem- 
ories of  other  faces,  dark  and  fair,  haught\^  or 
pleading — which  had  come  into  his  brief  experience 
of  society  while  a  cadet  at  Lexington,  or  had  glided 
momentarily  across  his  busy  path  in  two  j^ears  of 
service.  But  none  had  left  very  clear  negatives 
before  his  "snap  shot"  camera;  and  flirtation,  with 
him,  had  been  merely  preliminary  skirmish  before 
that  serious  battle  of  feelfng  which  comes  to  every 
man,  soon  or  late.  He  might  have  been  grazed  more 
than  once;  but,  never  seriously  wounded,  he  bore  no 
scar  from  conflict    and  w^as  ever  eag^er  to  enter  it 


80  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

again.  Handsome,  jaunty  and  brave,  Bev.  Latliam 
had  ever  been  a  favorite  Avitb  women,  and  was  the 
idol  of  the  grand  old  mother  and  the  brilliant  sister, 
now  thinking  so  fondly  of  their  boy  at  the  far-away 
homestead.  And  then,  quick  movement  of  unbridled 
thought  bore  him  across  the  stirring  scenes  of  com- 
bat and  of  skirmish.  His  first  ordeal  of  fire  passed 
before  him ;  he  recalled  the  strangeness  of  sensation 
— which  was  scarcely  fear,  but  was  very  far  from 
exhilaration — as  the  first  volley  of  Minies  passed  with 
ugly  whir,  and  uglier  thud  as  they  met  resisting 
flesh.  Again  he  felt  the  hot  thirst  of  fever,  as  he  lay 
w^ounded  before  the  crescent  of  Malvern  Hill,  so 
yearning  for  one  sip  of  muddy  water  as  to  be  careless 
of  the  balls  that  ploughed  the  field  about  him.  That 
brought  thought  of  the  gallant  comrades  he  had  left 
in  Virginia ;  some  still  battling  for  the  loved  soil — 
others  so  still  beneath  it !  And,  once  more,  he  felt 
the  ennui  o{  the  camp  of  instruction;  to  which  dis- 
tasteful duty  convalescence  sent  him,  before  his 
transfer  to  cavalry  and  to  duty  in  a  distant  state, 
more  active  but  scarcely  less  distasteful.  And  was 
this  hunting  of  starved  deserters — this  arresting  of 
wretched  conscripts,  dodging  duty — to  be  the  end  of 
bright  hopes  and  high  ambitions  that  had  lured 
him,  school  boy  as  he  was,  into  the  ranks? 

"I'm  hanged  if  I  like  this  hunting  of  men,"  he 
grumbled  to  himself  "No  soldier  ought  to  like  it; 
and  none  who  do  not  see  the  misery  and  the  tempta- 
tion to  desert  could  really  understand  it.  But,  it's 
all  right,  I  suppose,  so  long  as  it  is  duty;  but  I'd 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  81 

rather  be  at  the  front,  all  the  same— especially,  with 
the  A.  N.  V.  But,  what's  the  use  of  grumbling 
here?"  he  added,  with  a  yawn.  "I'd  better  sleep 
and  enjoy  Miss  Jen's  good  breakfast.  It  will  be 
long  enough  before  I  get  another.  Pretty  girl,  too  ; 
and  so  natural.  Don't  suppose  that  girl  ever  had  a 
lover  in  her  life.  Pity  to  waste  her,  up  here,  too. 
She  seems  purity  itself  and— Hello !  what's  that  ?  " 

He  interrupted  himself  suddenly,  reaching  instinct- 
ively for  his  pistol,  lying  on  the  bureau.  Then  he 
drew  back  into  the  shadow  of  the  white  curtain, 
watching  intently  the  broad,  open  space  before  the 
house.  The  moon  was  riding  higher  above  the  trees 
now,  throwing  broad  gleam  against  his  window, 
but  leaving  the  yard  below  still  in  shadow,  where 
dark  objects  would  be  invisible.  But  from  the 
shadow  of  the  house  there  glided  a  white-clad  form 
slowly  and  noiselessly  across  the  shadow,  and  seem- 
ingly stopping  to  listen  every  few  steps,  and  to 
watch  the  windows  of  the  house  intently. 

Instinctively  the  soldier  dropped  his  pistol  on  the 
moving  figure,  covering  its  every  motion.  Twice  it 
stopped,  hesitant ;  then  approached  the  house  again, 
as  if  undecided.  Then,  with  seeming  conquest  of 
indecision,  it  turned  and  moved  toward  the  gate — still 
carefully  and  noiselessly,  but  with  swifter  motion. 

"There's  no  sort  of  doubt!"  Latham  muttered. 
"  It  is  a  woman !  What  in  the  deuce  can  she  be  doing 
out  at  this  hour  ?  It  must  be  after  midnight ;  it  can't 
be  a  robber,  and — by  Jove!  "  he  added,  suddenly,  "it 
can't  be  Jen  Freeman!" 


82  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

He  turned  from  the  window  and  rapidly  drew  on 
his  boots  and  coat,  muttering  as  lie  started  for  the 
stairway : 

"It's  strange  enough  to  w^arrant,  anyway.  I'll  do 
a  little  volunteer  scouting  on  my  own  hook." 

He  descended  the  stairs  softly  and  turned  into  the 
sitting  room.  The  porch- window  was  open,  and  the 
moon,  just  touching  the  roofs  edge  now,  shed  a 
weird  half-light  into  the  room.  Pausing  in  the  dark 
hall,  the  man  again  thumbed  his  pistol  hammer; 
peering  into  the  half-light  for  any  intruder,  confeder- 
ate of  the  one  outside.  Dead  silence  reigned,  nor 
could  he  see  form  or  movement  in  the  barely  furnished 
room ;  so  the  ardent  young  soldier — his  ardor  piqued 
by  novelty  of  adventure — moved  cautiously  into  the 
room  and  made  for  the  open  window. 

As  he  reached  it,  a  white  robed  figure  faced  him, 
coming  from  the  porch,  and  a  soft  voice — quickly  ris- 
ing into  comical  terror — called : 

"Is  that  you,  papa?  Did  you  hear  him — Oh!  Mr. 
Latham !  do  n't  come  out  here !  I'm  not  dre — I'm  sure 
I  didn't  expect— P/ease.'  go  up  stairs !  " 

"Certainly,  Miss  Freeman,"  the  soldier  answered, 
executing  a  quick  right-about.  "  But  can  I  be  of  any 
use  ?    Was  there  any  alarm  ?  " 

"No— nothing!  Go  to  bed,  please!  I  don't  want 
anything!  Please  go  \  And— Mr.  Latham,"  the  girl 
added  pleadingly  from  the  darkness  without—' '  Please 
don't  mention  this  to  papa!  It's  no  use,  you  know. 
Good-night,  again." 

Without    reply,    Beverly    Latham    tipped     back 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  83 

Upstairs,  drew  off  his  boots,  for  the  second  time,  and 
threw  himself  softly  on  the  bed.  He  lay  perfectly 
still  for  many  minutes,  stretching  his  hand  instinct- 
ively to  touch  his  revolver  butt,  as  he  rolled  over  at 
last  to  sleep.  But  he  muttered,  as  concluding  some 
train  of  thought : 

"I  suppose  I  made  an  ass  of  myself,  too!  It  is 
none  of  my  business, — but  it  is  devilish  odd,  all  the 
same! " 


CHAPTER  YII. 

IN  THE   outlaw's  NEST. 

That  extremely  rare  species,  the  modest  youth,  ever 
infrecjuent  in  the  genus  man,  was  more  rare  than 
before  during  the  war  days ;  a  result  due  partly  to 
opportunity^  and  somewhat  to  the  prevalence  of  but- 
tons and  tarnished  lace.  This  is  not  to  be  accepted 
as  implication  that  the  species  has  become  more  num- 
erous, in  this  A.  D.  1893;  but  with  the  present,  this 
veracious  record  of  the  past  has  naught  to  do. 

That  Lieutenant  Latham's  diffidence  was  not  his 
most  apparent  weak  point  has,  perhaps,  been  proved 
already.  Yet  the  Virginian  was  no  fop;  for  the 
absorbing  vocation  he  had  assumed,  with  its  frequent 
serious  responsibilities,  had  prevented  that  sort  of 
self-deification.  And,  as  his  nocturnal  introspection 
told,  he  had  not  disported  as  a  "lady-killer,"  even 
while  he  had  accepted  the  gage  tossed  before  him  by 
more  than  one  little  glove.  But  he  was  young,  enthu- 
siastic and  easy  of  speech ;  and,  while  not  too  sus- 
ceptible, his  judgment  of  a  pretty  face  or  of  a  piquant 
manner  was  perhaps  nearly  as  correct  as  that  of  his 
mount, — natural  and  educated  horseman  as  he  was. 
So,  in  the  wilds  of  the  mountains,  as  on  the  plains  of 
Virginia,  Mr.  Latham  was  fairly  safe  in  the  gentler 

84 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  85 

trading  of  sentiment,  even  while  he  might  have  been 
at  disadvantage  in  the  sharp  "jockejnng"  of  fast 
society. 

But,  as  he  rode  awav  from  Freeman  Farm,  that 
bright  and  fresh-scented  July  morning,  the  young  sol- 
dier was  unusually  quiet.  To  his  senior's  surprise, 
the  wonted  chaff  and  nonsense,  illustrated  by  glib 
and  saucily  twisted  quotation,  were  wholly  absent ; 
and  the  pair  rode  along,  with  only  duty-forced  talk 
as  to  the  road,  or  the  result  of  the  day's  march. 

At  dawn's  first  gleam.  Freeman  had  found  the  lieu- 
tenant in  the  well-yard,  carefully  acting  as  stable- 
lieutenant  and  inspecting  the  squad.  He  had 
thoughtfully  ordered  omission  of  bugle  call ;  so  as  not 
to  advertise  to  prowling  bushwhackers  the  move- 
ment of  his  troop,  w^hich  might  bring  vengeance  on 
the  hospitable  farm  that  had  sheltered  it.  But  the 
men  were  ready  mounted,  on  horses  strangely  fresh- 
ened by  rest  and  two  good  feeds,  and  soon  the  cap- 
tain joined  him  and  the  march  was  taken  up  once 
more.  Already  Miss  Jen  had  dealt  out  coffee  and 
food  to  the  men ;  and  the  officers  had  eaten  such  a 
breakfast,  as  might  have  caused  a  foolish  virgin  to 
doubt  her  own  memory  of  the  previous  supper. 

The  last  adieux  had  been  spoken,  and  the  3'ounger 
soldier's  clasp  had  held  the  slim,  brown  hand  of  the 
girl,  rather  beyond  the  bounds  of  strict  convention. 
Nor  had  it  then  been  relinquished,  without  a  pres- 
sure scarcely  mistakable.  But  the  frank,  brown 
eyes,  looking  into  his  so  calmly,  never  fell ;  nor  was 
there  any  ackowledgment  of  that  fact,  by  undue 
haste  in  the  little   fingers  that  withdrew  from  the 


86  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

junior's  clasp  only  to  be  frankly  extended  to  the 
older  friend. 

"I  am  so  glad  you  stopped,  Captain  Shelby,"  Miss 
Jen  said,  "I  will  not  say  a  real  'good-bye'  yet,  as 
you  may  return  this  way  from  your  hunt  for  Hess." 

"Perhaps;  and  I  hope  duty  will  force  us  to," 
Shelby  answered.  "  But  we  never  know  what  detour 
noon  maj^  necessitate  when  we  ride  out  at  dawn." 

"And  I  hope  so  too.  Miss  Freeman,"  Latham  said, 
earnestly.  "To  spend  another  evening  with  you — 
and  your  music  —  I'd  almost  swear  to  bring  you 
General  Hess'  head  'upon  a  charger,'  or  get  knocked 
oft'  my  own.  No;  I  won't  say  'good-bye,'  yet.  The 
fellow  v^ as  a  fraud  who  wrote  'that  sweet  old  word  ' 
— when  'tis  so  often  bitter!  " 

Now  the  column  had  moved  north  two  hours  by 
sun,  entering  rougher  ascending  country,  broken  by 
rough  defiles  and  abrupt  gorges,  scarce  leaving  any 
trail  visible. 

"What  are  you  dreaming  about,  Bev?"  the  cap- 
tain called  suddenly.  "A  Confederate  shinplaster for 
your  thoughts." 

"They  are  not  worth  it,"  the  sub  answered, 
quickly  recovering.  "But  I  wasn't  dreaming;  only 
remembering  Farmer  Freeman's  larder — " 

"And  his  brown  eyed  daughter,  Bev.?"  the  other 
finished  for  him.  "Now,  look  here,  my  boy;  Miss 
Jen  is  a  special  pet  of  mine,  and  I'll  have  no  sort  of 
entanglements  of  her  fresh,  young  ideas." 

"I  don't  understand  you.  Cap.,"  the  youngster 
replied,  gravely.     "I  don't  think  I'm  a  fool — " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  87 

"And  I  know  she  isn't!"  Shelby  again  broke  in. 
"I  tell  you,  Be  v.,  that  little  girl  has  less  idea  of 
flirtation  than  I  have  of  theology.  So  be  careful, 
should  we  ever  chance  at  the  farm  again." 

"She  is  a  lady,  and  a  very  gentle,  modest  one,"  the 
sub  replied,  still  gravely.  "  She's  perfectly  safe  from 
any  nonsense  of  mine,  Cap.  In  fact,"  he  added  more 
jauntily,  and  twisting  his  mustache  airily,  "she  has 
hardly  'sabe'  enough  to  make  that  sort  of  thing 
sufficiently  piquant.  In  fact,  I  was  not  dreaming  of 
her." 

"  Glad  of  it, "  the  other  retorted,  bluntly.  "  Better 
not  dream  of  an3d:hing,  but  keep  your  eyes  well  open. 
This  is  about  the  dandiest  spot  for  bushwhackers 
that  I've  seen  for  many  a  day." 

The  road  they  had  followed  now  took  still  more 
abrupt  ascent  of  the  mountain  side,  the  footing 
insecure  from  loose-washed  stones — often  round  and 
smooth  as  marbles,  from  friction  of  winter  torrents ; 
and  the  hoofs  of  the  horses  often  slipped  on  them. 
Huge,  beetling  boulders  overhung  the  curving  way 
on  one  hand,  while  on  the  other  the  narrow  path- 
way shore  off"  abruptly,  almost  overhanging  the 
precipitous  descent  into  the  gloomy  gulch  below. 
There  the  tops  of  even  the  nearest  and  tallest  trees 
were  pigmied  by  the  distance ;  and  from  the  heights 
above  them,  and  before  them,  a  dozen  determined 
men  might  have  defied  an  army. 

"Bad  fix  we  might  have  been  caught  in  here,  had 
General  Hess  expected  us,"  the  captain  said  to  his 
junior  in  a  low  tone.  "But  there  must  be  a  flat  close 
above.    They  always  break,  after  a  defile  like  this. 


88  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

Move  up,  men!  Close  up  your  ranks,  sergeant!  "  he 
added  aloud. 

" Hello !  listen  to  that,"  Latham  answered.  " The 
general  may  really  be  preparing  some  entertainment 
for  us  that  we  don't  'hanker  arter.'  This  is  the 
devil's  own  country,  anyway!" 

The  sounds  he  noted,  though  coming  from  a  dis- 
tance, were  clear  to  all  ears  now ;  the  note  of  horns 
borne  clear  and  sharp  on  the  noon  breeze.  They 
came  from  all  sides — from  crest  above  and  cove 
below ;  now  seeming  to  recede  and  almost  die  away, 
then  to  rise  again,  vibrant  and  clear,  as  if  in  answer 
to  some  call. 

"It's  a  regular  code  of  signals,  eh.  Cap  ?  "  Latham 
said.  "The  outlaw  mvst  expect  us  and  have  an 
ambush  ready,"  and  the  3'outh  quietly  drew  his 
pistol  and  spun  the  chamber  as  he  examined  the 
caps.  "As  poor  Bee  said  to  his  brigade :  'This  is  a 
good  place  to  die  in ' !  " 

"You've  something  yet  to  learn  of  mountain  fight- 
ing, Bev.,"  the  captain  answered,  coolly.  "That 
may  be  a  signal — it  may  be  a  dinner  horn.  But  it  is 
only  one,  and  echo  does  the  rest." 

"Blessed  be  the  horn,  then !  "  Latham  replied,  glibly, 
himself  in  an  instant.  "As  the  cockney  would  quote : 
'  'Appy  the  hower  w'en  th'  'orn  of  th'  'unter  is  'card 
hon  th'  'ill ! '  if  it  presage  dinner.  I  am  as  hungry  as 
though  Miss  Jen  Freeman  were  no  cook !  " 

"'Still  harping  on  my  daughter!'  But  look  yon- 
der!" the  senior  retorted,  in  his  own  vein,  as  he 
pointed  over  the  abrupt  crag  straight  ahead. 

The  sounds  had  died  away.      Dead  stillness  now 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  89 

reigned,  asthoiiglino  spirit  of  the  mountain  had  evet 
commanded : 

Blow,  bugle,  blow!  set  the  wild  echoes  flying! 

Blow,  bugle,  blow!     Answer  echoes — dying,  d3M'ng — dying! 

But,  in  front  of  them,  a  spiral  of  thin,  blue  smoke 
curled  over  the  crest;  resting  a  moment  on  the  breeze 
and  then  floating  off  into  nothingness  under  the  sun- 
shine. 

The  horses,  responding  to  spur  and  hand,  clam- 
bered laboriously  up  the  rougher  ascent,  scrambling 
onward  to  the  crest.  Fifteen  minutes  more  brought 
them  to  the  mountain  top,  stretching  away  into  one 
of  those  level  plateaus  not  infrequent  after  sharpest 
rises.  A  clear  road  showed  before  them,  rock}-,  level 
and  broken  by  no  tree  or  bush.  At  its  end  a  rude,  but 
striking  picture  presented  itself;  a  great  log  house, 
evidently  inhabited  by  the  smoke  now  pouring  from 
the  mud-daubed  chimney  at  its  either  end.  Back  of 
the  house  the  ground  broke  away  precipitously ;  and 
down  the  mountain  side  poured  a  tumbling,  foaming 
torrent  of  pure  water,  breaking  over  the  rocks  into 
silvery  cascades  and  miniature  waterfalls.  For  many 
yards  in  front  of  the  house  the  ground  was  cleared  of 
brush  and  larger  stones ;  while  a  thick,  prickly  hedge 
of  brush-like  growth,  which  crossed  the  road,  was 
reinforced  by  felled  trees  and  unused  brush.  The 
house  was  evidently  a  dwelling ;  but  it  was  a  fortress 
as  well,  judging  by  the  frequent  small  loopholes  that 
pierced  its  log  sides. 

But  war  was  not  the  idea  of  the  garrison,  if  indeed 
any  were  present  as  the  column  approached.    The 


90  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

smoke  came  from  a  tra.sh  pile,  still  burning  as  they 
trotted  briskly  on,  halting  at  safe  distance,  on  the 
captain's  command.  At  a  sign  Latham  spurred  for- 
ward— well  covered  by  twenty  carbines  at  ready,  each 
instant  expecting  a  volley  from  the  abbatis.  But 
none  came,  and  he  trotted  along  its  length,  only  to 
find  no  sign  of  foe,  and  then  to  signal  the  party  to 
advance. 

"What  'ud  yer  hell-hounds  want  yere?"  was  the 
salutation  Shelby  received  as  he  led  his  men  through 
the  narrow  opening  in  the  hedge. 

The  speaker  was  a  woman  in  seeming;  tho'  her  huge 
size,  fierce  features  and  brutal  voice  belied  her  sex,  as 
she  stood  before  the  open  doorway.  She  wore  a 
man's  hat  on  the  red,  unkempt  hair  that  ran  into  reg- 
ular whiskers  on  her  heavy  jaws ;  but  her  not  too 
neat  feet  and  heavy  ankles  v^^ere  bare.  In  one  hand 
she  held  a  rusty,  ugly-looking  shot  gun,  and  the  other 
bore  the  long  tin  horn,  with  which  she  had  lately 
given  either  call,  or  signal. 

"Have  I  the  honor  of  speaking  to  Mrs.  Hess?" 
Shelby  asked,  carrying  his  hand  to  his  cap  mechan- 
ically. 

"Wot  in  the  devil  'ud  ye  want?"  the  Amazon 
answered,  dropping  the  horn  and  grasping  her  gun 
with  both  hands. 

"I  want  to  see  General  Hess,"  the  soldier  answered. 
"I  have  called,  with  these  gentlemen,  to  pay  my 
respects." 

"None  o'  yer  palav'rin'  with  me,  ef  ye  know  wot's 
best  fur  ye ! "  the  woman  growled,  betraying  no  fear; 


JOHN    HOLBEN,    UNIONIST.  91  . 

and  she  raised  tlie  gun  to  her  shoulder  as  the  shaggy 
red  eyebrows  knitted  menacingly. 

"I'd  advise  you  not  to  fire!  "  Shelby  said,  sternly. 
"It  might  be  worse  for  you,  though  we  do  not  intend 
to  harm  you." 

"Harm — who?"  the  woman  growled,  but  lowering 
her  gun  as  the  carbines  came  to  a  "ready,"  and  add- 
ing: "I  know  how  to  take  care  ov  myself,  ef  my  man 
is  away." 

"Nobody  could  doubt  your  former  statement  one 
moment,  madam,  after  looking  at  you  once,  however 
he  mio^ht  the  second,"  Latham  said,  in  his  sweetest 
voice.  "Does  the  general  really  risk  leaving  you 
alone  up  here — quite  alone?  " 

"Ef  he  hadn't, ye'dbeenpackin' downth' mounting 
miles  back,"  the  woman  answered,  gi'imly. 

"That  we  must  convince  ourselves,"  Shelby 
answ^ered.  "You  need  fear  no  harm,  but  duty  is  duty, 
Mrs.  Hess.  Sergeant,  dismount  the  men  and  search 
the  house  and  approaches,"  he  added,  as  he  dis- 
mounted. "Send  a  corporal  and  two  men  back  to 
picket  the  road  behind  us." 

"By  Jupiter!  Cap.,"  Latham  said  low  to  his  chief, 
"she's  a  mountain  Venus,  with  a  vengeance!  She'd 
shoot  one  of  us  quick  as  a  wink,  if  she  dared." 

"She's  a  she-devil  in  petticoats,"  Shelby  answ^ered. 
"  But  I  do  n't  think  she's  lying.  '  Her  man '  is  off  on 
some  devil's  mission,  or,  as  she  says,  we'd  never  have 
come  up  so  easily.  We'll  search  the  place,  as  matter 
of  form ;  but  we  can't  wait  the  gang's  return,  up  here, 
without  rations.    He  may  be  gone  for  days." 


92  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.    . 

"Wish  we  could  take  him  along,"  Latham  replied, 
ruefully. 

"I  have  no  orders  to  arrest  him,"  the  senior 
answered.  "I  have  no  special  charge  against  him; 
but  now  I  know  the  road  and  the  ranch,  we  can  get 
him,  whenever  sent." 

"Well,  I'll  scout  down  about  this  fall,"  the  sub 
answered.  "  The  scenery  is  worth  looking  at,  and  I 
may  find  out  some  new  path." 

So,  while  the  troopers  looked  through  the  house  and 
surroundings,  they  kept  close  watch  on  the  Amazon ; 
but  she  stood  stolidly  without,  not  even  looking  at 
them.  Latham,  finding  a  rough  footway,  descended 
the  cliff  about  the  fall,  and  was  soon  beyond  sight 
of  the  house,  and  almost  out  of  hearing  of  voices  of 
his  comrades.  The  scene  was  indeed  a  grand  one,  as 
the  torrent  fretted  and  leaped  down  the  rock-ribbed 
cliff;  and,  standing  on  a  projecting  ledge,  the  youth 
was  soon  lost  in  its  contemplation. 

Suddenly  his  reverie  was  abruptly  broken.  He  was 
almost  sure  he  heard  a  suppressed  cough  near  him. 
Turning  swiftly,  pistol  in  hand,  he  could  see  no  one, 
nor  any  bush  or  other  vantage  likely  to  shelter  a  sp3^ 
But  soldier  instinct  urged  a  search ;  and  he  moved 
along  the  ledge,  seeking  solution  of  what  he  could 
not  believe  a  trick  of  his  imagination.  At  last  he 
found  what  appeared  to  be  a  narrow  fissure  in  the 
rock,  its  mouth  hidden  from  careless  observation  by 
sparse-growing  bushes.  Without  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion the  trooper  moved  toward  the  opening,  pistol 
in  hand,  recking  little  of  the  rashness  of  invading  a 
possible  ambush.    Full  of  reliance    on   himself,    he 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  93 

cautiously  moved  nearer,  almost  reaching  the  fissure, 
when  the  bushes  parted  at  his  side  and  a  hand  was 
laid  softly  on  his  arm.  Instantly  he  turned,  his 
cocked  pistol  raised  and  pointing  full  into  the 
browned  face  of — a  woman ! 

"Yer  hain't  a-goin'  ter  shoot,  ez  yer?"  she  cried, 
beseechingly,  raising  her  clasped  hands.  "Yer  hain't 
furgot,  hez  yer?  E'm  ther  wun  yer  seen  ^-estidd}', 
wen  you'uns  war  a-chasin'  my  man." 

"Yes,  I  remember  you,"  Latham  answered  quietly, 
dropping  his  w^eapon.  "I  couldn't  well  forget  3'our 
face.    You  are  Mrs.  Holden?  " 

"Yes,   E'm  hur,"  the  woman    replied,   nervously. 
"En  e  tuk  notis  o'  yourn  then,  too.     Yer  hev  a  good 
face,  soljer,  en  Lize  Holden  jess  knows  yer've  got  a  kin 
heart." 

"I  am  obliged  for  your  good  opinion,"  Latham 
answered,  lighth'.  "But  what  are  you  doing  in  this 
wild  spot,  miles  from  your  home  ?  Ah !  I  see ;  that 
precious  husband  of  yours  trains  with  this  outlaw 
Hess!" 

For  an  instant  the  woman  hesitated;  her  face 
growing  a  paler  yellow  under  his  scrutiny.  But  it 
was  only  for  an  instant.  Then,  with  the  seemingly 
natural  gift  of  the  mountaineer  for  lying,  she 
answered  in  a  deep  whisper,  glancing  nervously  over 
her  shoulder  as  she  spoke : 

"I'll  tell  yer  ther  truth,  soljer,  sho's  th'  Lord's 
a-lookin'  at  me  now.  Hank  Holden  hain't  never 
dun'  a  wrong  'long  o'  no  man,  er  wumun,  'round 
yere.  He  hain't  never  yit  seen  Hess,  nur  nun'  er  hez 
gang !    I  jes'  swar  thet,  by  little  Johnnie's  grave  I  " 


94  JOHN    H  OLDEN,  UNIONIST. 

"  Then  what  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

"Jess  ben' cross  ther  cove,  ter  carry  grub  ter  my 
man!  He's  a  lyin'  out  on  ther  mounting,  a-tryin' 
ter  git  'cross  ter  Bragg!  " 

"Very  likely!"  the  soldier  answered.  "And  you 
are  helping  him  to  'git  'cross  ter  Bragg,'  eh?  " 

Again  the  woman  hesitated,  but  only  an  instant 
before  repl^dng : 

"I  wer'  plum' worrited  out;  an'  I  cum  roun'  by 
hither,  ter  see  Miss  Hess,  an'  ax'  sum  grub,  wen  I 
year'd  ther  dinner  horn !  I  hev  caught  er  cole,  an' 
ud  a  got  by  yer,  'cep'n  I  hed  ter  cough,  jess  now." 

"Oh,  that's  all,  is  it?"  Latham  answered,  but 
half  reassured.  "Well,  my  good  woman,  I  am  sorry 
for  you,  and  for  that  poor  devil  of  yours  whom  we 
failed  to  catch  yesterday. "' 

"Wot  'ud  Bragg  do  ter  Hank,  ef  yer  hed  cotched 
'im?"  the  woman  asked,  eagerly. 

"I  suppose  he  would  have  him  shot,"  the  soldier 
answered,  carelessly. 

"But,  ef  Hank  cud  git  'cross?  Ef  he  cud  go  back 
out  o'  his  own  will,  free  an'  willin' ? "  she  tirged, 
eagerly. 

"I'm  afraid  he'd  be  tried,  all  the  same, for  deserting 
the  service  of  his  country." 

"His  kentry ! "  the  woman  whimpered.  "Ez 
Bragg's  army  his  kentry?  Ar'  ther  Cornfed'rits  his 
kentry  ?  Wot  hev  Hank  got  ter  do  with  surces- 
shun?  Th'  ole  kentry  an'  th'ole  flag  war  good  'nufif 
fur  him!  Hank's  paw  fit  inter  ther  war  with  ther 
Mexerkins,  an'  he  bret  up  his  boy  ter  luv  ther  flag. 
We  hain't  never  hed  no  niggers,  hez  w^e  ?    Ther  men 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  95 

-wot  owns  'em  be  tlier  tnen  wot  orter  fite  fur  'em ! 
But  ther  cornscripturs,  thej  dregged  Hank  ter  ther 
war.  Wen  I  war  ill  an'  th'  boy  war  a-dyin',  th' 
wurd  war  sont  ter  Hank;  an'  w'en  'e  beg't  an' 
pray't,  his  cap'n  fair  lafied  en  his  face.  'Course  he 
put  out  fur  home,  axin'  no  man's  leave,  nor  n'uther ! 
An'  now  you'uns  be  huntin'  Hank,  jes'  ez  ef  he  war  a 
cat,  out  on  ther  mounting.  Ef  his  kentry's  a-doing 
thet,  he'd  be  a  mighty  better  off  ef  he  hedn't  no 
kentry!" 

The  woman  spoke  rapidly,  in  high,  rasping  voice, 
distinct  at  some  distance.  But  as  she  ceased,  she 
buried  her  face  in  her  hands,  sobbing  bitterly  and 
shivering  as  though  in  a  nervous  chill. 

Latham  stood  irresolute  and  uncomfortable.  It  is 
stated — mainly  by  crusty  old  bachelors — that  married 
men  grow  accustomed  to  female  tears,  knowing  that 
they  may  be  as  readily  dried  as  w^ere  those  of  Juno, 
when  she  gained  her  point  with  Jove,  after  his  too 
marked  attention  to  Europa,  or  some  other  of  his 
numerous  and  scantily  draped  flames.  But  the 
bachelor  is  apt  to  surrender  at  discretion,  as  soon  as 
woman  begins  to  w^eep,  and  Latham  was  a  young 
bachelor,  and  much  opposed  to  anything  lugubrious. 
Devoted  as  he  was  to  the  cause  of  the  South,  and 
fully  convinced  of  its  perfect  justice,  he  was  still 
wrought  up  to  deep  sympathy  with  the  woman  before 
him.  Brief  experience  among  these  mountaineers 
had  convinced  him  how  little  they  had  to  gain  from 
any  change  in  the  government  of  the  country,  or, 
indeed,  from  any  government  at  all. 


96  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

Besides,  he  well  knew  the  difficult}^  of  obtaining 
furlough  in  the  Army  of  Tennessee,  however  dire  the 
strait  of  him  who  sought  it.  So,  with  blending  of 
contradictory  feelings,  he  said  to  the  sobbing 
woman : 

"Your  case  is  a  pretty  hard  one,  Mrs.  Holden.  I 
don't  see  how  it  could  well  be  worse.  But  you 
should  not  judge  the  great  struggle  we  are  making 
for  independence  by  what  you  suffer  on  these  moun- 
tains. I  am  deeply  sorry  for  you,  but  your  husband 
should  not  have  made  your  case  harder  by  running 
away  from  his  dut3^  Officers  cannot  A'ield  to  all 
tales  of  sick  wives  and  starving  families ;  but  now 
that  I  know  the  facts  I  will  do  all  I  can  for  3'our 
husband.  Go  and  tell  him  to  come  in  and  surrender, 
and  I'll  do  all  I  can  to  have  him  pardoned  and 
returned  to  duty.  I  am  only  a  lieutenant,  but  I  have 
friends  at  Bragg's  headquarters." 

"Bless  yer  kin'  face  an'  yer  kin'  words,"  the 
woman  whined,  with  a  half-sob  and  half-grin  that 
showed  her  unbrushed  teeth.  "I'll  min'  yer  fur  'em 
fur  menu}'  er  day ! ' ' 

She  paused  an  instant,  snivelling  but  toying  with 
the  dirty  folds  of  her  dress.  Then  she  drew  nearer, 
with  a  cunning  gleam  in  her  greenish  eyes,  as  she 
looked  uneasily  over  her  shoulder,  ere  she  whispered 
very  low : 

"  Yer  ben't  sot  on  ther  farmer's  gell,  be  ye?  I  'low 
yer  be,  tho',  ez  yer  be  a-singin'  o'  songs  'long  o'  her." 

"What  in  the  devil  do\'Oumean?  "  Latham  blurted 
out,  surprised  beyond  deference  to  sex.  But  the 
woman  only  grinned  another  3'ellowish  grin,  nodding 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  97 

her  head  with  sickly  efibrt  at  archness.  Disgusted 
and  angry  with  himseh',  for  so  much  parley,  the 
trooper  turned  away  abruptly,  striding  toward  the 
steep  acclivity.  Reaching  it,  he  turned  and  said, 
abrupth' : 

"You'd  better  keep  your  tongue  still,  to  warn  that 
husband  of  yours.  His  onlj^  chance  is  to  come  in  and 
surrender."  Then  he  clambered  up  the  ascent,  soon 
regaining  the  crests. 

Scarcely  had  he  reached  it,  when  the  woman 
coughed  once  more;  and,  as  though  in  answer,  came 
a  cough  from  the  fissured  rock.  Then  the  head  of 
Hank  Holden  appeared  through  the  bushes,  as  he 
whispered : 

"  Lize,  ar'  he  plum  gone  ?  "  '. 

"  Yes,  Hank,  he  ar  plum  gone !  " 

"It  war  well  fur  'im,  ez  yer  techt  'ini,  Lize,"  the 
deserter  said ;  and  he  emerged  from  the  cover,  gi  asp- 
ing  a  long,  keen  knife  in  his  bony  hand. 

"  But,  Hank,  he  ar'  friendin'  yer  now,  my  man.  Ef 
ye'll  gie  up  to  'em,  he's  swore  ter  help  3'er." 

"Gie  up  ter  they?"  The  man's  face  set  hard  and 
stern,  and  his  voice  hardened.  "Not  s'long  ez  tha's 
a  huntin'  Hank  Holden,  same  ez  er  cat !  Wen  I  do 
go  back,  Lize,  ut'll  be  'cos  I  knows  I  hez  th'  rite  ter 
go !  I  shan't  be  druv,  gell ;  an'  et's  lucky  fur  'm  yer 
stopt  th'  hunter  whar  yer  did !  " 

He  clinched  the  knife  firmer,  as  he  raised  his  arm 
with  ugly  menace,  but  the  woman  laid  her  hand 
upon  it,  repeating: 

"But,  Hank,  he  ar'  friendin'  ^xr,  now!  " 
7 


98  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

He  only  shook  his  head  grimly,  as  he  muttered 
stolidly : 

"I  shed  a-het  ter  dun  it,  Lize,  but  I'd  a  hed  ter!  I 
won't  never  be  tuk !  " 

And  Beverly  Latham, — his  good  humor  restored,  as 
he  approached  the  squad, — strode  gaily  across  the 
clearing.    As  he  went  he  hummed — 

No!  there's  nothing  half  so  sweet  in  life, 
As  love's  3'oung  dream ! 

little  dreaming  that  he  had  been  nearer  to  death, 
that  bright  noon,  than  at  any  moment  since  he  ran 
away  from  the  old  V.  M.  I. 


CHAPTER  YIII. 

\VID0Y7ED. 

Afternoon,  once  more,  at  Freeman  Farm.  The 
lengthening  shadows  of  the  tall  clifif  make  twilight 
on  the  cleared  space,  fronting  the  wide  porch  on 
which  Miss  Jen  sits,  her  slim  brown  hands  lying  list- 
lessly on  the  coarse  fabric,  now  neglected  upon  her 
lap.  The  red  glow^  of  the  setting  sun  still  steals 
warm  up  the  western  sky,  gilding  the  crest  of  the 
spur ;  but  the  girl's  eyes — ^turned  full  upon  this  even- 
ing coronet — take  little  note  of  it,  to  judge  by  the  far 
away  and  absent  gleam  within  them. 

Jen  Freeman  has  been  sewing  steadily  on  the  tough 
cloth,  all  the  afternoon ;  for,  in  the  days  of  '63  South- 
ern girls  not  only  did  their  own  sewing,  but  held 
themselves  fortunate  indeed,  when  they  found  the 
wherewith  to  sew.  Not  only  was  material  too  often 
lacking  for  bonnet,  or  gown,  or  other  portion  of 
apparel,  but  the  needs  of  loved  ones,  far  away  from 
home  and  shelter,  had  well  nigh  exhausted  every 
effort.  Yet,  the  Southern  women  had  not  yet  reached 
the  thither  end  of  their  makeshift  resources,  when 
that  dire  struggle  finally  closed ;  and  their  bloodless 
victories  over  adverse  circumstances  should  scarcely 

99 


100 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 


be  ranked  second  to  those  of  their  sires,  or  husbands, 
or  sweethearts,  won  upon  the  held. 

For  during  every  day  of  those  unmatched  four 
3'ears,  those  steadfast,  tireless  women  wrought  un- 
ceasingly for  their  absent  loved  ones.  Those  much- 
sung  sisters  of  theirs,  v.-ho  gave  their  hair  to  string 
the  war-bows,  made  lightest  sacrifice  compared  to 
that  of  comfort,  as  well  as  of  heart,  brain  and  soul — 
offered  on  the  altar  of  Trust  and  Faith  by  the  daugh- 
ters of  the  Southland. 

In  man^'  a  quiet  nook  in  which  the  rattle  of  con- 
flict never  entered,  heroic  deeds  of  self-sacrifice  were 
done;  the  tears  that  stained  some  coarse  garment 
their  only  eulog\% — their  sole  record  the  A^earning 
tenderness  stitched  into  each  seam,  by  the  sore  fingers 
of  these  veritable  Sisters  of  Mercy.  Each  one  of 
them, 

With  no  one  but  her  secret  God 

To  know  the  pain  that  weighed  vipon  her, 

Shed  holy  blood  as  e'er  the  sod 

Received  on  Freedom's  field  of  honor! 

What  the  homely  task  that  Jen  Freeman's  fingers 
had  plied  upon  matters  nothing,  for  they  had  moved 
briskh'  for  hours.  But  now  they  rested,  anticipatory 
of  the  "blind  man's  holiday,"  w^hile  her  eyes  saw 
nothing  in  the  space  they  fixed  upon.  For  the  girl 
was  enjoying  one  of  her  rare  day-dreams,  its  nebu- 
lous territory  peopled  with  not  unpleasant  shapes, 
from  the  half  smile  that  played  about  her  lips  from 
time  to  time.  Then  would  come  a  little  sigh ;  and  a 
flush,  seen  even  in  the  fading  evening  light,    would 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  101 

gleam  through  the  tan  upon  her  soft,  childish 
cheek. 

What  the  matter  of  her  thought  may  not  be  pried 
into  more  properly  than  what  she  sewed  upon.  If  it 
touched  the  novel  experience  of  the  previous  night  it 
would  not  be  unnatural;  for  a  handsome  young 
lieutenant,  with  world-smoothed  manners,  a  well 
managed  voice  and  scars  of  honorable  winning,  was 
not  an  ever^'day  visitor  to  the  isolated  girl.  So,  if 
fancy  brought  him  again  careering  through  her 
thoughts, — if  she  compared  him  with  the  rough, 
unlettered  rustics  only  seen  of  late, — what  wonder? 
But  surely  she  is  not  in  love,  nor  does  she  mistake  a 
pleasant  fancy  for  that  state  of  doubtful  bliss.  Her 
healthful  little  body  enshrines  a  healthful  common 
sense;  and  her  simple  naturalness  is  built  upon  a  firm 
basis  of  self  respec^t.  Jen  Freeman  is  not  the  sort  of 
girl  who  gives  her  heart  before  she  knows  full  well 
that  it  is  asked  ;  or  then,  without  sound  cause  to  know 
and  to  value  the  one  who  asks. 

Yet,  she  may  find  basis  for  the  little  sigh  in  the  half- 
formed  vf  ish  that  farm  life  \vere  not  quite  so  monoto- 
nous ;  for  the  blush  in  some  involuntary-  wish  that 
there  were  more  pleasant  visitors,  like  Captain 
Shelb}^ — or  his  lieutenant — for  example.  But  visions 
of  the  unreal  scud  away,  and  the  girl  wakes  to  every- 
day reality,  at  the  sudden  note  of  the  warder's  horn ; 
and,  raising  her  eyes,  she  sees  someone  approaching 
the  house  through  the  gloaming. 

The  figure  of  this  unbidden  visitor  is  a  woman,  and 
she  is  met  at  the  great  gate  by  Farmer  Freeman  him- 
self, returning  from   a  warm   and  long  day  in  the 


102  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

fields.  After  a  few  words  he  turns  toward  the  well- 
yard,  and  the  woman  slowl\%  and  with  uncertain 
step,  approaches  the  gallery.  And,  as  she  draws 
nearer,  Jen  notes  that  she  is  barefoot,  poorly  clad, 
and  limping  with  fatigue  and  soreness  of  foot.  So 
the  warm  hearted  girl  la^^s  down  her  smoothly 
folded  work,  advancing  to  w^elcome  the  visitor,  who 
reaches  the  low  gallery  only  to  sink  upon  its  edge 
with  a  weary  sigh  that  is  half  a  sob. 

Looking  upon  the  pinched  features  and  trembling 
limbs  wnth  tender  compassion,  Jen  takes  the  grimy 
hands  in  hers,  lifting  the  woman,  as  she  exclaims : 

"Sit  in  this  easy  chair,  you  poor,  tired  thing !  No ! 
Don't  try  to  talk  until  I  get  you  a  drink." 

Then  she  runs  to  the  shelf  near  by,  that  supports  a 
huge  bucket  of  cold,  mountain  well  water,  hurrying 
back  with  the  ample  gourd  filled. 

"Ye're  smeart  kind  ter  me,  Miss  Freeman,"  the 
woman  said,  after  greedy'  gulping  of  the  fluid,  as  she 
wiped  her  mouth  on  her  soiled  sleeve.  "Mebbe  ver 
wud  n't  a-ben  so,  ef  yer'd  a-knowed  I  war  th'  wife  ov 
er  disarter,  wud  jer?" 

"Why  not ?"  the  girl  responded,  frankly.  "I  could 
sympathize  all  the  more  with  you,  for  that  added 
sorrow.  But  don't  try  to  talk.  You  seem  worn 
out." 

"I  em  plum  tired,  sho',"  the  woman  answered. 
"We  'uns  hez  been  on  ther  mounting  yan',  a- 
trampin'  fur  two  whole  da}'.  But  I  tho't  as  how 
3'ou  an'  yer  paw  wud  n't  refuse  er  bite  an'  er  sup  ter 
a  po'  wumun,  ef  her  man  war  er  disarter." 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  103 

"  Of  course  we  would  n't !  "Jen  cried,  her  face  glow- 
ing with  sympathy  and  pity.  "Wait  a  moment, 
and  don't  you  stir!"  she  added,  as  she  ran  into  the 
house. 

The  woman  shook  her  head  wearily,  as  she  looked 
after  her  wistfully;  and  then  her  dull  eye  bright- 
ened into  a  cunning  gleam,  as  it  furtively  sought  the 
bullet  hole,  in  the  plank  above  her  head.  But  soon 
the  girl  ran  out,  with  a  platter  of  food  and  a  bowl  of 
foaming,  fresh  milk,  which  she  placed  before  the 
wanderer,  watching  her  as  she  ate  greedily  and  to 
the  last  crumb.  Then  she  gave  a  sigh  of  relief,  and 
said: 

"Bless  yer  fur  them  kin'  words  an' fur  yer  pretty 
face,  more'n  fur  yer  grub,  Miss  Freeman.  The're  do 
be  sum  good  en  ther  wurld,  arter  all !" 

"I  hope  so,"  Jen  said,  simply.  "But  I  believe  I 
remember  you,  my  good  woman." 

"I  'low  I  be  n't  er  good  'ooman,"  the  other 
answered  grimly.  "I  'low  ez  e'm  po'wful  baad.  But 
Lize  Holden  kin  do  yer  good,  mebbe,  'fo'  et's  too 
late." 

"I  was  right,  then,"  Jen  answered.  "You  are  the 
■woman  w^hose  husband  was  chased  by  the  troopers, 
yesterday?  " 

"I  be  n't  lyin'  'bout  it,  be  I  ?  "  the  woman  retorted ; 
adding  with  a  gleam  of  weak  triumph  in  her  eyes : 
"But  tha's  not  cotcht  'im,  is  tha?  Tha's  not  got 
Hank  yit,  hez  tha'  ?  But  jes'  arter  he  foolt  'em  agin, 
wurd  war  sont  frum  Miss  Hess,  'lowin'  he'd  better 
cum  yan,  ef  he'd  git  'way.  So  we'uns  trampt  'cross 
cove  an'  hill  ter  her  place,  all  night  long!  " 


104  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

**  You  must  be  worn  out !  "  Jen  said. 

"Smeart  wore  out,"  the  woman  answered.  "But 
me  an'  my  man  cum  by  yere  jess  as  moon  riz,  and  I 
tried  ter  stop  an'  speak  yer,  ter  liev  yer  warnt." 

"Last  night?    At  moon  rise?  "  Jen  asked,  quickly. 

"Jess  'bout,  I  'low.  But  th'  house  war  dark,  an'  I 
heer'd  th'  critter  cump'ny  roostin'  yan;  so  I  hed  ter 
git,  'thout  no  speech  o'  yer." 

A  gleam  of  light  broke  over  Jen's  face ;  but  even 
sympathy  could  not  restrain  a  broad  smile,  as  she 
recalled  the  comical  rencontre  at  that  very  window, 
the  previous  midnight. 

"An'  I  hed  watcht  long  arter  yer  hed  quit  a-singin' 
'long  OY  yer  yung  man,"  the  woman  resumed;  and 
Miss  Jen's  smile  died  suddenh^,  at  the  appropriative 
title. 

"  Where  is  your  man  now  ?  "  she  asked,  quietly. 

"Safe  an'  soun',beyant,"  the  woman  replied,  with  a 
cunning  gleam  in  her  eyes.  But  it  suddenl}^  changed 
to  a  yearning  one,  as  she  added :  "  I  do  ble'eve  I  kin 
trus'  yer,  Miss  Freeman.  Hank  'lowed  ez  he  wudn't 
jine.  He  jess  up  an'  tole  Miss  Hess  he  hain't  never 
outlaw^'d  yit.  He  jess'  d'sartid  ter  cum  ter  me  an' 
po' Johnnie;  an' he's  plum  sot  ter  go  back !  He  jess 
'lows  he's  got  th'  rite  ter  go  back !  So,  we'uns  up 
an'  trampt  back,  sence  noon,  cuttin'  cross  coves,  an' 
a-dodgin'  ther  critter  cump'ny." 

"They  are  returning  this  way?"  Jen  asked, 
quickly. 

"Reck'n!"  was  the  brief  reply;  but  the  woman 
nodded  her  head  and  grinned  knowingly.  "Yer 
yung  man  '11  see  yer  'fo'  long.  Miss !  " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  105 

"You  didn't  come  all  this  way,  out  of  your  road, 
to  tell  me  that !  "  Jen  retorted,  sharply. 

"Sho'I  didn't,"  the  woman  answered,  with  a  wary 
look  around  her.  "But  I  plum'  loss'  it,  tell  now. 
Miss  Freemun,  them  cap'ns  ov  ther  critter  cump'ny's 
ater  my  man.  Tha's  hard  men ;  but  A'er  yung  man 
hez  a  kin'  heart  I  " 

Jen  flushed  deeply,  if  unconsciously ;  but  she  did 
not  reprove  the  speaker.  Laying  no  claim  to  the 
trooper,  even  unacknowledged,  she  still  found  his 
praises  pleasant,  though  coming  from  such  humble 
source.  So  she  made  no  reply;  and  Lize  Holden's 
cunning  noting  the  flush,  she  went  on : 

"  Well,  I  haint  sed  no  harm,  hez  I  ?  Then,  ef  yer  be 
a  fren'  o'  hisn,  thet  yung  soljer — an'  ther  Cap'n 
Shelb}^  too,  shed  be  warn't  I  " 

"About  Hess?  "  Jen  queried,  quickl}'. 

"Naw!  'bout  my  man's  paw,  John  Holden  I  Paw 
ar'  a  dang'sum  man,  wen  he's  sot ;  an'  yestiddy  he 
hear't  as  how  Hank  war  shot  by  th'  soljers.  Then 
he  swar  his  yoath  ter  Gawd,  ez  he'd  shoot  them  two 
soljers.  Sencst  he  hev  larnt  Hank  war  n't  shot,  paw 
sez  ez  how  he  hain't  rid  o'  thet  A'oath,  'cepen  he  do 
shoot  one  on  'em — " 

"And  he  fired  that  shot  last  night!  "  Jen  broke  in. 
**The  coward! " 

"I  hain't  sed  he  did,  hez  I  ?  "  Lize  Holden  answered. 
''But  paw  ben't  no  cow'ud,  sho'.  He  hez  sware  his 
yoath.  Miss,  an'  he  be  bound  ter  keep't  ef  he  kin.  So 
yer  yung  man  'ud  better  be  warn't!  He  hed  bess' 
git  'way  frum  yere,  'fo'  paw  shell  fin  'im !  " 


106  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

"You  are  talking  nonsense,  Mrs.  Holden!"  Jen 
said,  angrily.  "And  you  must  stop  speaking  of  Mr. 
Latham  as  my — "  she  hesitated  a  moment,  then  went 
on  bravely —  "as  my  S^oung  man.'  I  never  saw  him 
until  last  evening,  in  all  my  life !  But  you  must  be 
ignorant  of  a  Confederate  soldier's  bravery,  and  of 
his  duty,  if  you  suppose  he  could  care  for  the  threats 
of  a  dreadful  old  bushwhacker  like  John  Holden !  I 
u'/y/ warn  Captain  Shelby;  but  it  will  be  to  arrest 
this  disloyal  old  wretch,  who  shoots  at  us  out  of  the 
darkness! " 

"I  'low  I  war  doin'  fur  ther  bes',  Miss  Freeman,'* 
the  other  replied,  beginning  to  whimper.  "But  paw 
ar'  might'ly  sot  again  them  two  cap'ns.  He  do  'low- 
as  he  can't  brek  his  yoath ;  but  I  don'  want  ther 
yung  man  shot,  sho ';  an'  I  don'  wan'  no  mo' 
trouble,  th'  Lord  knows !  Ef  I  kin  git  Hank  ter  hear 
reasing,  he'll  cum  in  an'  gie  himself  up;  an'  Mistur 
Lathum  'lows  he's  a-friendin'  'im  now.  So,  1  don' 
keer  ter  hev  Mistur  Lathum  hurtid  ,  not  by  paw  nur 
n'uther!" 

Before  Jen  could  frame  any  reply  to  this  speech, 
that  caused  mingled  emotions  of  pity,  interest  and 
alarm  in  her  gentle  bosom,  the  signal  horn  sounded 
once  more. 

Dusk  had  now  fallen  over  the  cove,  but  clear  twi- 
light still  lingered  about  the  crest.  Through  it  rose  a 
cloud  of  dust,  seeming  to  move  in  their  direction 
rapidlv ;  and  to  Jen's  keen  perception — forewarned  by 
the  woman — it  betokened  the  return  of  the  cavalry. 
Suddenly,  just  as  the  dust  cloud  was  halfway  dow^n 
the  path,  and  as  the  dim  figures  of  horsemen  became 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  lOT 

distinguishable  througH  it,  confusion  seemed  to  occur 
in  the  ranks. 

Three  men  galloped  out  rapidly ;  then  a  flash  cut 
the  dusk;  and,  simultaneously,  a  clear  report  of 
carbine  rang  among  the  echoing  cliffs.  Then  all  was 
still;  the  squad  halted,  the  men  sitting  their  horses 
like  gray  statues  against  the  dying  light.  Then  a. 
single  horseman  left  their  ranks,  spunriug  toward  the 
house  at  a  rapid  gallop. 

The  farmer  ran  to  the  gate  to  meet  him,  and  Jen — 
forgetting  the  woman,  in  her  anxious  fear,  sudden 
and  all  absorbing  now — saw  that  it  \vas  Captain 
Shelby.  Then,  with  parted  lips  and  quick  throbbing 
heart,  Jen  waited  while  her  father  spoke  briefly  to  the 
captain,  the  two  approaching  the  porch  on  foot.  The 
trooper's  rein  was  looped  over  his  left  arm  ;  and  the 
girl  noted  that  his  manner  was  serious  and  his  voice 
grave,  as  he  said : 

"Yes;  two  of  your  men,  with  pickaxe  and  shovel 
-will  do,  Mr.  Freeman.  But  it  is  a  bad  business,  any- 
way." 

"  You  have  bad  news.  Captain  Shelby  ?  "  Jen  forced 
herself  to  ask.  But  her  usually  red  lips  were  white,, 
and  her  voice  dry  and  hard. 

"Yes,  quite  bad  news,  Miss  Jen,"  the  trooper 
replied.  "I  left  Mr.  Latham  in  charge  of  the  squad, 
and  came  in  person  to  ask  your  father's  assistance." 

Jen  grasped  the  column  for  srippoii:  and  drew  a 
long,  deep  breath  at  these  words.  The  color  came 
back  to  her  lips  and  cheeks ;  but  she  herself  could  not 
have  explained  the  booming  sound  in  her  ears,  which 


T.08  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

seemed  to  give  great  distance  to  Shelby's  voice,  as  lie 
went  on  rapidly : 

"You  see,  Mr.  Freeman,  we  must  push  on  for  Fort 
Payne  to-night.  The  cavalry  are  massing  across  the 
river,  and  I  judge  the  general  expects  a  Federal 
advance.  A  scout  overtook  us  before  sunset,  with 
news  that  suggests  action  soon." 

"But  that  is  not  the  bad  news  you  meant?"  Jen 
asked,  doubtfully. 

"Oh,  no;  not  that,"  Shelby  answered,  bluntly  as 
he  ever- did,  w^hen  intent  on  duty.  "I  don't  mind 
catching  deserters,  Miss  Jen,  for  that  is  what  I  was 
ordered  to  the  mountains  to  do;  but  I  hate  to  be 
compelled  to  shoot  them !  " 

"And  you  have  done  so !  "  the  girl  cried. 

"Yes;  we  found  a  desperate  outlaw,  worn  out  on 
the  crest  beyond.  Resisting  fiercely,  he  was  captured 
and  warned  not  to  attempt  escape.  Just  at  the  turn 
there,  he  broke  away,  and  the  trooper  guarding  him 
^was  forced  to  shoot." 

"  And  killed  him  !  "  Jen  again  cried. 

"Yes,"  \vas  the  blunt  reply.  "But  it  was  just  as 
-weW.  Nothing  could  have  saved  so  desperate  an  out- 
law as  Hank  Holden !  " 

There  \vas  a  dull,  heavy  thud  upon  the  floor  of  the 
porch ;  and,  recalled  to  sudden  memory,  Jen  turned 
and  bent  over  the  stiff,  cold  form  of  the  fainting 
woman.    And  her  lips  formed  only  three  words : 

"  Hush !— His  wife !  " 
Then,  in  the  calm  evening  hush,  the  soldier  and  the 
farmer  simultaneously  bared  their  heads ;  standing 
silent  in  the  presence  of  a  great  grief. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

A  MISADVENTURE. 

Weeks  have  passed  since  the  deserter  was  sent  tO' 
his  final  Judgment,  before  that  of  the  lower  court  to 
which  he  was  doggedh' striving  to  "go  back,"  nerved 
by  the  feeling  that  he  "had  the  right  to  go." 

Shelb}'  is  scouting  along  the  river  line,  miles  away 
from  the  scene  of  that  not  unusual  tragedy,  now 
almost  forgotten  in  the  welcomed  rush  of  more  active 
duty;  and  with  him  are  all  his  command  except  a  cor- 
poral and  ten  men,  left  with  Latham.  The  latter  has 
strict  instructions  to  Avatch  the  lower  shore,  in  case 
the  Federal  advance  should  cross  the  Tennessee  river 
and  make  a  raid  in  the  direction  of  the  East  Tennes- 
see, Virginia  and  Georgia  railroad,  a  transportation 
artery  so  vital  as  to  warrant  closest  and  most  watch- 
ful care.  The  compliment  to  the  young  cavalrjmian's 
coolness  and  sagacity  is  great,  indeed,  for  he  is  pretty 
well  bej'ond  communication  with  the  main  bod\', 
and  must  rely  wholly  upon  his  own  resources  and 
military  instincts ;  but  it  irks  him  none  the  less  to  lie 
out  in  perfect  safety  of  the  mountain  fastnesses,  while 
his  comrades  may  at  any  moment  be  called  into  the- 
hot  excitement  of  that  battle  which,  alas  I  he  may- 
only  "sniff  afar  off." 


110  JOHN    IIOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

The  camp  of  tlie  squad  is  at  the  intersection  of  two 
roads ;  one  leading  direct  to  the  Tennessee  river,  the 
other  the  main  thoroughfare  of  that  section  of  the 
countr_y.  Their  quarters  are  measurably  comfort- 
able,— for  such  season  in  those  days, — consisting  of 
the  remains  of  a  dilapidated  loghouse  and  such  brush 
"shelters"  as  the  men  construct;  picturesque  to  the 
eye  and  sufficient  to  protect  from  sun  and  ordinary 
rain.  Each  night,  after  the  pickets  are  set,  the 
bivouac  makes  a  quaint  and  novel  scene ;  the  hardy 
and  brov^ned  fellows  grouped  about  their  fire — for  it 
is  ever  cool  at  night  in  the  high  region — cooking  v^hat 
rations  they  have  foraged  for  during  the  day,  smok- 
ing their  pipes  and  swapping  rather  highly-colored 
yarns  of  past  adventures,  mingled  with  frequent,  and 
not  uninteUigent,  speculation  as  to  the  possible 
movements  of  the  foe  they  watch  for.  But  that  foe 
never  appears  across  the  river  to  the  eager  eye  of  the 
picket;  and  days  pass  in  a  life  of  the  far  niente,  more 
or  less  susceptible  of  the  prefix,  dolce.  But  the  men 
are  content;  sleeping  and  smoking  away  most  of 
their  days,  and  devoting  much  less  time  to  profane 
objurgation  as  to  "ther  commersary,"  than  do  their 
more  ill-fed  comrades  with  the  main  forces. 

But  not  so  with  their  impatient  young  commander. 
Inwardly  chafing  at  being  "stuck  away  in  such  an 
out  of  God's  sight  cranny,"  as  he  writes  Shelby,  in 
postscript  to  a  report  about  nothing,  Latham  chafes 
and  frets  in  a  thick  boredom,  which  may  be  felt ;  and, 
spite  of  active  exercise  and  constant  hunting  for 
game  he  cannot  find,  spite  of  quoting  poetry  and 
even  some  effort  to  write  it,  comes  nearer  to  an 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  Ill 

attack  of  the  blue  devils  than  ever  before  in  his 
sunny  and  cheerful  life.  His  panacea  for  them,  how- 
ever, is  the  hope  which  never  sleeps,  that  the  Federal 
cavalry — ^known  to  be  massing  heavily  beyond  it — 
mav  cross  the  river  in  his  front,  and  that  he  may  be 
the  first  to  meet  them.  But  even  rumors  of  this  pos- 
sibility at  last  die  out,  from  reports  of  passing  scouts 
and  couriers ;  and  Latham's  existence  now  becomes 
one  of  boredom  almost  unbearable. 

If  it  be  verity  that  "an  idle  man's  brain  is  the 
devil's  workshop,"  it  certainly  is  equally  true  that 
Master  Cupid  sometimes  tarries  in  it,  at  least  to 
watch,  if  not  prevent,  the  busy  labors  of  his  coad- 
jutor from  the  nether  realms.  So  it  is  but  natural 
that  wandering  thoughts  of  the  j^oung  soldier  often 
reverted  to  Freeman  Farm,  recalling  pictures  of  its 
homely  comfort  and  cjuiet  refinement.  And,  central 
figure  in  all  of  them,  of  course,  stood  the  farmer's 
daughter— now  feeding  her  chicks,  again  preparing  a 
savory  supper ;  more  often  singing  her  favorite  songs 
simply  and  sweetly.  And  more  than  once,  as  he  lay 
under  the  stars — his  sole  companions  these  thoughts 
and  his  brier  pipe — Latham  recalled  the  midnight 
rencontre,  when  Miss  Jen  had  ordered  him  back  to 
bed  so  peremptorily. 

He  never  failed  to  repeat,  mentally,  the  remark 
made  just  before  sleep  that  night — that  he  was  "an 
ass,"  and  that  it  w^as  none  of  his  business.  But, 
spite  of  both  averments,  he  confessed  full  curiosity 
about  the  strange  absence  of  the  girl  from  bed  at 
suchanhour;  and  magnified  her  request  not  to  speak 
of  it  to  her  father  into  a  thousand  vague,  but  vary- 


112  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

ing,  shapes  through  the  kaleidoscope  of  the  "idle 
man's  brain."  Ignorant  of  the  physical  and  staunch 
moral  nature  of  mountaineers  in  some  cases,  the 
3^outh  never  once  dreamed  of  the  presence  of  another 
woman ;  and,  even  had  the  memory  of  Lize  Holden 
crossed  his  mind,  or  had  the  grim  oath  of  the  Union- 
ist, hanging  above  him  like  the  fabled  Grecian's 
sword,  been  known  to  him,  the  appearance  of  Miss 
Jen  in  scant  costume  came  so  pat  as  to  make  his 
wonder  all  the  more  natural. 

But  Latham  had  known  w^omen  only  to  respect 
them,  and  he  held  for  them  those  "High  erected 
thoughts,  seated  in  the  heart  of  courtes}^,"  which 
come  in  such  connection  ever,  to  the  true  gentleman. 
And  when  such  a  one  recalls  venerated  mother  and 
idolized  sisters  of  his  own,  unsubstantial  doubts  fade 
from  his  mind,  as  the  mountain  mists  dissipate  at 
noon.  So,  while  curious  query  sometimes  cut  his 
memories  of  the  girl  and  her  surroundings,  the 
soldier  never  doubted  the  perfect  right  of  Miss  Jen 
to  have  gone  upon  her  strangely-timed  errand,  even — 
as  he  once  permitted  himself  to  vaguely  wonder — if 
it  had  been  to  meet  some  visitor,  unknown  to  her 
sire. 

But  the  one  visit  to  Freeman  Farm  had  left  so 
many  pleasant  recollections  that  Latham  several 
times  thought  of  repeating  it.  Now  that  duty  no 
longer  seemed  to  call  so  strictly  for  that  price  of 
liberty  which  must  be  paid  by  eternal  vigilance,  he 
feels  the  right  to  a  few  hours  recreation.  This, 
naturally,  takes  the  shape  of  an  early  gallop  over 
the  fifteen  miles  Iving  between  him  and  the  farm,  and 


"HUSH!— HIS  WIFE!"— Page  108. 


JOHxN    HOI.DEN,    UNIONIST.  113 

a  return  b\"  earlv  night,  as  he  cannot  leave  his  com- 
mand then,  even  in  the  dead  lull  of  hostilities  about 
him. 

So,  the  lieutenant  in  command  gives  himself  twelve 
hours  furlough,  mounts  his  horse  after  the  morning 
picket  is  posted,  and  rides  forth  to  renew  acquaint- 
ance with  the  most  attractive  woman  he  has  met 
since  leaving  Virginia.  But  he  does  not  start  with- 
out some  warning  of  the  perils  of  the  way ;  for  the 
corporal  —  after  receiving  last  and  very  minute 
instructions  —  still  stands  with  hand  to  cap,  and 
ventures : 

"  Ther's  man\'  a  d'serter  and  'whacker  rotnid  here 
yit,  leftenant.     Shan't  I  detail  ye'  an  orderly?  " 

"Certainly  not,  corporal.  Even  if  necessary,  I 
could  not  spare  the  man,"  his  officer  answered 
promptly ;  but  his  freshly  shaved  cheek  colored  deeper 
under  its  sun-bronze,  at  the  implied  necessit}- ;  and  at 
the  thought  that  he  was  not  exactly  riding  on  duty. 

"All  right,  sir,"  the  man  answered.  "But  \'e'd 
best  keep  your  eyes  wide  open,  mosth'  in  the  passes 
with  thick  brush  above  'em.  Any  o'  them  skulkers 
'ud  pick  off  an  officer  for  the  glory ;  lett'n  alone  his 
horse  an'  his  pistols." 

"Thank  you  all  the  same  for  your  w^arning,  cor- 
poral, but  'I  wasn't  born  in  the  woods  to  be  scared 
by  an  owl,'"  Latham  laughed,  in  that  familiarity 
common  between  officer  and  man  in  the  Southern 
service;  but  he  added  with  changed  manner,  as  he 
twnsted  his  mustache :  "  I  do  n't  think  man\'  skulkers 
would  keep  near  our  camp,  corporal,  but  keep  sharp 
lookout.     Order  the  men  to  forage  nearer  in,  to-day, 

8 


114  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

It  is  the  first  I  have  left  you  in  charge,  and  I'd  hate 
to  ride  in  at  picket-change  and  find  you  gobbled  by 
General  Hess." 

"All  right,  sir!"  the  soldier  answered,  stepping 
back,  with  salute.  "We'll  be  here  when  you  come,  I 
guess.  No  skulkers  are  reported  on  the  lower  road 
b\'  the  picket,  fi3r  four  days  past." 

"They've  been  shy,  ever  since  the  ugly  lesson 
taught  that  Holden  gang,"  Latham  answered;  and 
with  the  words  he  trotted  into  the  clear  roadwa\% 
sitting  his  horse  graceful  and  erect,  the  incarnation 
of  youthful  pride  and  hope.  But  the  corporal  —  a 
grizzled  veteran  with  scar-seamed  cheek — shook  his 
head  sagely,  as  he  looked  after  his  commander, 
remarking  half  to  himself: 

"Splendid  youngster,  that,  but  he  do  have  lots  to 
larn  'bout  mountain  warfare,  yit!  Wonder  where 
he's  off  to?" 

"Gal,  I  s'pose,"  answered  a  soldier,  "an'  small 
blame t'im,  arterthis  yerecamp.  Wouldn't  a-mirded 
ridin'  his  ord'ly,  ef  ther's  two  on  'em." 

"  Ye're  a  pretty  one  fur  gals,  ye  'air,"  the  corporal 
retorted.  "Better  git, and  forage  roun'  here, fur  ye're 
fonder  o'  grub! " 

Meanwhile  the  discussed  superior  rides  gaily  over 
the  mountain  road  until  he  strikes  a  known  trail 
across  the  country  and  trots  into  it;  confident  of 
reaching  Farmer  Freeman's  hospitable  gate  long  ere 
noon,  and  having  ample  time  for  a  pleasant  dinner 
and  still  more  pleasant  tete-a-tete.  And  as  he  goes 
rapidly  along,  the  man's  eyes  grow  dreamy  w^ith  the 
swifter-coming  fancies  to  his  brain — the  past,  his 


JOHX    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  115 

home,  more  recent  scouting  and  Jen  Freeman  dancing 
along  the  "gray  matter"  in  pleasantly  unintelligible 
£gures. 

Suddenly  lie  comes  back  to  the  present,  and  a 
quickly  tauted  rein  stops  his  horse.  A  well-known 
mountain  stream  crosses  the  road  before  him,  but 
recent  rains  have  swelled  its  flood  high  be\'ond 
remembered  bounds;  and,  sitting  on  the  top  of  the 
steep  descent  to  the  familiar  bridge,  Latham  utters 
something  less  like  a  pra\'er  than  an  oath.  For  the 
rough  planks,  lately  serving  as  bridge,  are  swept 
away,  and  the  tumbling  rush  of  w^aters  above  sug- 
gest small  chance  of  ford  in  that  direction.  The 
banks  are  too  steep  there  to  offer  safe  descent ;  and 
turning  into  the  w^oods  below  the  bridge-point,  he 
picks  his  way  along  the  stream,  that  grew  only 
narrower  and  deeper  as  he  went.  At  last  he  found  a 
point  promising  a  ford;  but  the  horse  refused,  and 
the  spur  and  voice  were  necessary  to  force  him  in, 
with  snort  and  plunge.  Next  instant  he  was  swim- 
ming; but  the  practiced  rider,  wet  nearl}^  to  his 
waist,  kept  the  beast's  head  up  stream  until  he  struck 
bottom ;  then  leaving  the  saddle  and  urging  the  tired 
animal  up  the  steep  and  slippery  bank  beyond.  In 
the  dense  cover  of  w^ood  the  rider  had  lost  his  bear- 
ings ;  but  trifles  like  that  seemed  little  to  the  scouter, 
and  he  quickly  drew  off  his  boots,  ran  the  water  out 
of  them  by  the  bucketful;  and  remounting,  struck 
out  for  the  missing  trail. 

Half  an  hour  later,  Beverly  Latham  drew  rein, 
dead  beat.  Disgustinghim  as  did  the  confession  come, 
it  had  to  come.     He  was  lost  in  the  woods ;  and, 


116  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

human  intelligence  lacking,  he  must  trust  to  brute 
instinct.  Giving  the  horse  his  head,  the  man  urged 
him  on,  and  the  intelligent  animal  turned  short 
round  and  began  picking  his  way  slowly  through  the 
brush,  in  direction  exactly  opposite. 

Lieutenant  Latham's  boots  were  perfectly  dr\^ 
and  hunger  began  to  gnaw  him  equally  with  disgust, 
when  he  struck  a  narrow  trail  two  hours  later. 
Still  letting  his  horse  have  his  head,  but  touching 
him  with  the  spur,  he  trotted  briskly  on.  But  this 
road  —  circuitous  and  narro^v  as  it  was  —  seemed  the 
only  hope,  and  at  last  the  disgusted  man  emerged 
into  a  broader  path,  though  still  unknown  to  him. 
But  the  sun  was  already  hastening  toward  the 
west,  far  past  meridian.  Impatiently  the  rider  urged 
his  steed,  for  an  hour  longer  riding  as  near  due  south 
as  the  curves  of  road  permitted.  Then  came  a  sud- 
den break  in  the  horse's  stride ;  a  sudden  halt,  fol- 
lo^ved  bv  a  limping  eftbrt  to  gather  again. 

That  the  merciful  man  is  ever  merciful  to  his  beast,, 
is  proverbial;  but,  in  those  days  and  in  such  a 
countrv,  mercy  was  largely  reinforced  by  necessities 
of  personal  safety.  Dismounting  and  examining  the 
foreleg,  promptlj^  raised  to  his  touch,  Latham  found 
that  the  horse  had  picked  up  a  jagged  stone,  fast 
imbedded  'twixt  shoe  and  frog.  With  his  knife  he 
carefullv  tried  the  stone,  finally  using  more  force  and 
snapping  the  worn,  rusty  shoe  that  had  doneso  much 
rough  mountain  service.  The  farrier's  knife  he  car- 
ried  removed  the  fragment ;  but  the  rust-fastened 
nails  held  firmlv  to  the  other,  and  the  horse  winced 
and  trembled  under  handling,  showing  a  bad  bruise 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  117 

of  the  frog.  So  with  another  glance  at  the  sun, — now 
less  like  Joshua's  to  him  than  ever, — the  man  strode 
ahead,  pocketing  his  knife  and  followed  by  the  limp- 
ing beast. 

It  is  perhaps  fortunate  that  Beverh'  Latham  did 
not  have  the  habit  of  talking  to  himself;  for  his 
words  on  this  occasion  might  have  shocked  any 
listener — had  one  been  possible  in  that  deserted 
spot  —  who  was  in  the  least  acquainted  with  the 
church  service.  But  he  kept  silent  for  perhaps  a 
mile.  Then  the  horse  nickered,  pricked  up  his  ears 
and  turned  to^vard  the  wood,  stepping  more  easily 
and  seeming  free  from  pain.  Grasping  the  bit,  the 
soldier  paused  and  listened  for  the  expected  neigh  in 
answer;  for  the  brute  evidently  recognized  some 
equine  friend.  But  no  neigh  came ;  only  what  seemed, 
to  the  ear  of  the  practiced  scout,  the  snap  of  broken 
branches  and  the  swish  of  leaves  swept  aside.  The 
horse  heard,  too  ;  for,  raising  his  head,  he  neighed  clear 
and  loud,  pricking  his  ears  for  answer.  None  came; 
and  the  master,  mounting  and  rising  in  his  stirrups, 
peered  long  and  eagerly  through  the  trees,  for  some 
sign  of  life.  None  rewarded  his  searching  gaze;  and 
with  deeper  disgust  than  before,  he  once  more  gave 
the  horse  his  head,  not  omitting  keen  watch 
toward  the  suspicious  sounds,  as  he  carefully 
inspected  his  pistol-chamber,  to  see  if  his  bath  had 
affected  the  caps. 

Then,  after  what  seemed  to  him  endless  delay,  the 
soldier's  heart  bounded  with  joy.  The  horse  moved 
out  of  the  skirt  of  woods  into  the  very  road  he  had 
left  at  the  broken  bridge,  but  far  below  it.    But  now 


lis  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

the  sun  hung  low  over  the  western  mountain  tops, 
and  a  ten  mile  ride  on  a  lamed  horse,  lay  between 
him  and  Farmer  Freeman's.  Should  he  turn  back? 
It  would  be  night  before  he  could  reach  his  camp, 
even  could  he  retrace,  in  the  dusky  woods,  the  path 
around  which  his  horse  had  brought  him  out. 
Besides,  the  worn  beast  might  not  again  swim  the 
swollen  creek;  and,  really  there  was  no  pressing  mili- 
tary need  for  his  presence  in  camp.  His  situation 
was  most  unfortunate,  but,  in  best  judgment,  the 
safest  way  out  of  it  was  the  way  to  Freeman  Farm ; 
and,  inclination  siding  with  judgment,  the  decision 
was  carried,  nem.  con.  Latham  rode  slowly  south- 
ward, the  evening  closing  around  him  rapidly,  and 
night  falling  before  he  had  covered  half  the  distance. 

As  he  passed  slowly  along,  Latham's  ears  were  all 
at  once  saluted  by  the  sounds  of  a  fiddle.  The  tones 
of  this  master  instrument,  if  not  respondent  now  to 
the  touch  of  the  master  hand,  were  not  the  less  wel- 
come to  the  wayfarer.  For  they  denoted  human 
habitation  and  possible  care  for  his  lame  horse ;  and 
the  latter  also  pricked  up  his  ears,  as  though  to 
prove  that  the  story  of  Orpheus  and  his  lyre  was 
not  founded  wholly  on  fable. 

Staring  eagerly  ahead,  the  soldier  saw  a  dim  Hght  on 
the  wayside ;  and  riding  toward  it,  soon  found  him- 
self before  a  rough  log  cabin,  from  which  proceeded 
the  melody  of  "Old  Molly  Hare,"  accompanied  by 
sounds  of  heavy  feet  indulging  in  the  double  shuffle. 
So  vigorous  was  the  sacrifice  to  Terpsichore  as  fairly 
to  shake  the  frail  building. 

"Yer  hain't  goin'  ter  pass  'thout  'lightin',  be  yer. 


JOHN    HOLDEX,   UNIONIST.  119 

stranger?"  cried  a  rough  Toice  from  the  doorway, 
and  Latham  saw  that  it  proceeded  from  a  burly 
striphng  of  perhaps  sixteen  years  old.  "Yer  can't 
git  no  music  fur  th'  yarmy  yere,"  the  boy  added, 
w4th  a  stare  and  a  grin  half  malicious  and  hali 
admiring.  "An'  yer  can't  git  no  cornscreeps,  nuther, 
fur  w^e'uns  be  all  yunder  age,  sho'.  But  yer  kin  have  a 
pow'ful  good  time,  b}'  hither,  if  3'er'll  'light  an'  jine !" 

The  soldier  hesitated  a  moment,  doubting  the  pru- 
dence of  trusting  himself  among  §trangers  holding 
revel  in  this  wild  spot.  But  he  and  his  horse  were 
both  woefulh^  in  need  of  a  brief  rest,  and  it  flashed 
into  his  mind  that  duty  might  warrant  inspection  of 
the  place.  If  there  were  no  grown  skulkers,  or 
deserters,  in  the  house,  a  hint  dropped  b^'some  of  the 
3'ouths,  or  women^under  intoxicating  influence  of 
the  dance,  if  not  of  more  direct  stimulant — might  be 
useful  for  future  reference.  And,  perhaps  not  least, 
curiosity  impelled  him  to  view  the  novel  scene.  So 
he  answered  cheerily : 

"My  horse  is  dead  lame,  stranger,  so  I  will  'light 
and  rest  him  awhile,  if  I  don't  intrude." 

"It  be  n't  like  I'd  er  axed  yer,  ef  yer'd  'trude,  stran- 
ger, be't?"  the  boy  answered.  "Ef  yer  do  be  a 
Johnnie,  it  don't  mek  no  differ." 

So  Latham  hitched  his  steed  convenient  to  the  door, 
loosenedhis  pistol  in  holster, and,  giving  a  farewell  rub- 
bing to  the  lame  leg,  followed  his  host  into  the  cabin. 

The  scene  striking  his  gaze — albeit  far  different  from 
a  "commencement  hop,"  or  a  Richmond  ball  room — 
\vas  still  a  lively  and  novel  one.  Up  and  down  the 
rough    puncheon    floor  —  formed    of     logs     partly 


120  JOHN    HOLDEN.    UNIONIST. 

smoothed  on  top — were  ranged  two  rows  of  sturd}^ 
frowsy  mountain  girls,  few  of  them  fairly  respectable 
looking,  and  almost  every  one  awkward,  unkempt 
and  barefoot.  But  their  freckled  faces  glowed  with 
pleasure  and  perspiration;  for  they  had  evidently 
been  dancing  some  sort  of  Virginia  reel,  with  the  few — 
and  seemingly  much  sought — striplings  among  them. 

And  now,  as  a  tough  old  sinner  of  a  fiddler  scraped 
his  vile  instrument  faster,  those  girls  who  had  part- 
ners, w^ere  fiercely  striving  to  dance  down  their  beaux. 
Fast  and  furious  raged  the  revel;  more  moist 
streamed  the  faces  of  the  dancers ;  and  the  girls 
jumped  so  high,  in  their  eager  rivalry,  that  the  fact 
was  soon  revealed  to  the  intruder  that  shoes  and 
stockings  were  not  the  only  missing  garments.  But 
a  few  minutes  of  such  exercise  sufficed  to  end  the 
dance,  the  winning  couple  received  rude  congratula" 
tions;  and  then  Latham's  guide  introduced  him  wath 
the  frank  remark : 

"Look  yere,  gals  an'  fellers!  I  hev  axt  this  yer' 
Johnnie  ter  hitch  his  critter  an'  jine. — He  hev  hitched 
and  yere  he  ar'!  " 

The  introduction  seemed  ample ;  for  the  stranger 
was  promptly  surrounded  by  the  whole  gaping 
assembly ;  and  the  seeming  belles  of  the  ball  pressed 
closer  and  urged  him  "ter  jine." 

But,  pleading  fatigue  and  possibility  of  stopping 
only  brief  space,  he  sat  down  by  the  old  fiddler. 
That  descendant  of  Orpheus  scraped  his  bow 
promptly  again ;  and  the  heavy  tread  of  the  revelers 
again  shook  the  cabin.* 

•Literally  accurate  description  of  an  actual  scene. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  121 

Standing  a  little  way  back  from  the  road,  the  log 
hut  was  seated  on  the  crest  of  a  gentle  rise;  while 
the  thick  growth  of  tree  and  brush,  had  been  cleared 
away  only  from  its  front  and  partly  at  its  sides. 
Behind  it  the  thicket  was  dense  and  dark  as  "the 
forest  primeval";  its  gloom  enhanced  even,  by  the 
vague  flicker  of  light  that  streamed  through  the 
open  door,  toward  the  road,  and  filtered,  thin- 
streaked,  between  the  logs,  barely  touching  the 
leaves  and  boughs. 

From  the  thicket  comes  the  chirp  of  insects,  almost 
drowned  by  squeak  of  string  and  beat  of  foot.  But  is 
that  a  rustle  among  the  brush  ?  It  might  be  a  rab- 
bit, changing  its  lair ;  or  a  snake,  stealing  awav  from 
unwonted  noise.  But  the  rustle  is  repeated ;  the 
boughs  seem  to  part ;  and  the  dimly  traced  shadow 
of  the  woods  seems  to  lengthen  out,  projected 
toward  the  cabin.  Gradually  the  dark,  thin  line 
steals  onward,  nearer  to  the  house;  and  now,  as  a 
pale  flicker  strikes  it,  the  shadow  rises  and  becomes 
a  man.  And  the  man  has  fell  purpose  in  his  heart, 
for  he  skulks  onward,  stooping  and  noiseless ;  and  he 
trails  a  long  rifle  by  his  side.  Now  he  reaches  the 
back  of  the  cabin,  rises  to  his  full  height  and  peers 
eagerh'  through  one  of  the  chinks,  between  ill-fitting 
logs.  And  as  the  fitful  gleam  touches  his  face,  the 
features  show  drawn  and  set,  with  iury,  hate  and 
deadly  menace. 

Silently  as  a  spirit,  the  man  raises  the  rifle,  places 
the  muzzle  in  the  crack  and  takes  deliberate  aim  at 
something  within.  But  another  shadow — slim, 
_gliding  and  noiseless  as  his  own  —  has  followed  swift 


122  JOHN    HOI.DEN,    UNIONIST. 

Upon  it ;  and,  just  as  his  relentless  finger  presses  ou 
the  trigger,  a  lean  but  strong  hand  strikes  the  butt 
of  the  rifle  from  his  shoulder. 

The  crack  of  the  rifle — the  flash  into  their  midst  — 
hold  the  dancers  paralyzed  in  mid-motion.  The  fiddle 
stops,  echoless ;  and  for  an  instant  all  is  deadly  still. 
But  only  for  an  instant.  The  next,  all  turn  intui- 
tiveh'  to  the  soldier  guest,  whose  trick  they  deem  it. 
A  rush  is  made  for  Latham,  at  the  very  moment  that 
he  reels  from  his  seat,  sinking  to  the  floor  in  a  pool 
of  his  own  blood ! 

The  would-be  murderer  fled  from  the  crack  toward 
the  covering  woods.  And  following  swift — and  close 
as  Nemesis  —  fled  the  companion  shadow,  through 
bush  and  brier  and  brush.  Turning  at  last  the  man 
faced  his  pursuer ;  speaking  slowly,  deliberately,  but 
without  anger — only  desperate  fixity  of  purpose  in 
his  tone : 

"  W^^  hez  A^er  dun  it,  Lize?  How  hez  yer  dar'd  ter 
cum  'twixt  me  an'  my  yoath?  " 

"  Oh,  paw  !  "  sobbed  the  woman.  "Yer  hed  n't  th' 
rite  ter  do't!  It  war  n't  him  ez  kilt  my  man!  He 
war  a-friendin'  Hank,  all  'long!  " 

"Tha's  vipers  all!  "  John  Holden  answered,  coldly. 
"  Gawd  hez  hearn  my  yoath,  gell ;  an'  He'll  not  ge'en 
hit  bac'  ter  me !  Yer  may  hev  save'  ther  hunter,  this 
wunst  —  tho'  I  do  hope  sholy  not;  but,  ef  he  ben't 
dead — thet  meks  no  differ,  gell!  His  tim'  hez  got  ter 
cum  —  an'  cum  et  shell!  " 

"Oh!  yer  shan't,  paw!  Yer  shan't  go  addin'  ov 
murder,  top  murder !  Gawd  knows  I  luv'd  my  man, 
paw!      But  He  knows,  too,  as  th'  yung  'un  war 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  123" 

a-friendin'  Hank, 'long  of  me !  Let 'a  be,  paw !  Ef  ver 
nius  kill,  fur  thet  yoath — then,  paw,  I'd  a-ruther 
yer'dkillme!" 

The  woman  passed  before  him  in  the  gloom  throw- 
ing wide  her  thin  arms,  and  facing  him  in  the  path. 

"I  hed  thet  en  my  min',  Lize,  wen  yer  streck  my 
gun,"  the  old  man  answered  without  one  show  of 
emotion ;  his  voice  hard  and  cold  as  though  repeat- 
ing a  lesson.  "Et  cum  ter  me  then,  gell.  But  wot 
good  'ud  come  o'  thet?  It  war  agin  them,  as  I  hev 
swar  m\'  3'oath !  " 

Within  the  cabin  confusion  and  terror  soon  sub- 
sided. Those  wild  people — accustomed  to  blood  and 
tracas  at  all  times — were  hardened  now,  by  trial  and 
constant  danger.  Boys  ran  out  and  beat  the  brush, 
swinging  rude  lanterns  and  calling  to  each  other ;  but 
soon  they  ceased  the  bootless  search. 

The  girls  had  lifted  Latham  and  torn  open  his 
bloody  jacket.  Now  one  of  them  plugged  a  small, 
bleeding  wound,  \vith  fragments  of  his  handkerchief. 
For  the  bullet,  meant  for  his  heart,  had  been  deflected 
upward  by  Lize  Holden's  blow,  and  a  deep  flesh 
wound  in  his  shoulder  was  the  result  of  its  speeding. 

Soon  rough  but  kindh'  hands  had  borne  "ther- 
Johnnie"  outside,  had  lifted  him  to  his  horse,  and 
now  steadied  him  in  saddle,  as  others  grasped  the  bit. 

"Wartu?"  asked  a  kindl^y  voice.  "Wichwayter 
go,  soljer?  " 

And  Latham  —  faint,  dizz\^  and  reeling  in  his  seat  — 
answered  mechanically,  as  his  head  sunk  on  his 
breast : 

"Farmer  —  Freeman's! " 


CHAPTER  X. 

CONVALESCENT   SYMPTOMS. 

"It  is  a  lovely  face;  so  full  of  brightness  and  gentle- 
ness. I  would  have  known  your  sister  Stella  was  a 
musician,  without  your  telling  me,  Mr.  Latham. 
Your  mother  is  a  grand  woman,  too,  I  can  see ;  and 
Miss  Stella  is  like  her.  But,  isn't  your  mother  just  a 
little  — proud?" 

Jen  Freeman  spoke  with  the  frank  gentleness 
natural  to  her,  and  the  added  freedom  of  ripened 
acquaintance.  But  she  hesitated  an  instant  before 
her  last  word ;  and  with  it  the  double  locket  rested 
on  her  lap;  and  her  e^-es — not  seeking  those  of  the 
young  lieutenant,  to  whom  she  spoke — gazed  out 
over  the  north  crest  absently,  and  her  lips  parted  in 
a  half  sigh. 

"Well,  perhaps— just  a  little,"  Latham  answered 
easily.  "Not  more  so,  though,  than  her  lineage  and 
life-long  surroundings  might  warrant.  But  mother 
has  no  false  or  foolish  pride  about  anji:hing.  Miss 
Jen, — except  about  her  children,  especially  her 
runaway  bo}'." 

"  That  is  ver\^  natural,"  Jen  said,  in  her  simple  can- 
dor, but  still  staring  across  the  mountain. 


JOHN    HOLDEX,    UNIONIST.  125- 

The  lieutenant  stared  at  her  earnestly ;  and  a  grat- 
ified flush  stole  into  his  cheek,  as  his  rather  thin  hand 
went  to  his  mustache  niechanicall\%  in  habitual 
caress  of  its  well-tended  ends.  He  was  lounging-  idly 
in  a  huge  rush  bottomed  chair,  looking  rather  pale 
and  thin,  but  what  a  town  girl  had  called  "interest- 
ing." But  he  seemed  scarcely  an  invalid  now;  and 
the  bridle  arm  he  carried  in  a  blue  ribbon,  rested  on 
it  lightly  and  as  mere  matter  of  form,  apparently. 

Great  had  been  the  excitement  at  Freeman  Farm,_ 
on  that  midnight  three  weeks  previous,  when  his 
rough  guides  led  up  Latham's  lamed  horse,  bearing 
the  ^vounded  rider.  The  farmer  had  first  despatched 
Master  Willie  to  the  Gadsden  doctor,  mounted  on 
his  fleetest  horse  and  enjoined  to  ride  and  spare  not. 
Then  he  had  showered  maledictions  —  not  wholly 
unprofane  and  condensed  into  strength  bv  repression 
— on  the  "cowardh'  skunks,"  who  had  bushwhacked 
his  pale  and  bleeding  guest.  And  Miss  Jen,  mean- 
time, had  moved  about,  swift  and  noiseless  as  a 
sprite,  preparing  the  best  room  for  instant  tenancv; 
and  stripping  long-prized  linen  rags  into  bandages. 

Pale  and  Avhite-lipped  as  the  girl  was,  her  hand 
never  shook,  nor  did  any  useless  moisture  rise  to  the 
brown  eyes,  as  she  helped  remove  the  blood-soaked 
jacket  tenderh',  and  washed  the  blood  clots  from  the 
long,  gashed  puncture  of  the  bullet.  But  those  eves 
held  eager  querj- — so  intense  as  to  be  painful ;  and  her 
father  answered  to  them : 

"No;  it's  not  dangerous — no  artery  cut;  ball  seems 
to  have  cut  out.  Cold  water '11  do  till  Preston  gets 
here.     He's  only  faint  from  loss  of  blood." 


126  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"It's  nothing — onl}'  scratch — Miss  Jen,"  Latham 
had  muttered,  opening  his  eyes  onthegirl,  only  to  close 
them  wearily  at  once.  But  Dr.  Preston  had  verified 
the  farmer's  diagnosis;  the  weakness  of  depletion 
swiftly  passed  awa}';  and  the  handsome  young 
object  of  interest  was  soon  on  his  feet,  disabled,  but 
last  recovering  under  combined  action  of  close  care 
and  a  fine  constitution. 

Pleasant  days  had  proved  those  of  convalescence. 
The  thunder  of  war  had  rolled  far  av^ay,  northward 
and  eastward;  Shelby  had  ridden  down  to  see  his 
sub,  reassuring  him  by  his  growl  that  he  was  "grow- 
ing sick  for  a  brush,"  and  that  everything  v^as  "dead 
as  a  mackerel."  Preston  had  ceased  his  visits,  save 
a  social  one  for  a  smoke  and  a  game  of  cribbage  as 
he  passed  ;  and  Latham  had  taught  the  m\'steries  of 
"fifteen  two,  and  one  for  his  Nob,"  to  his  gentle  and 
tireless  nurse.  Then,  as  he  had  grown  stronger, 
books  and  music  occupied  them  much ;  Jen  sitting  for 
hours  plying  most  contentedly  her  swift  needle,  as 
the  youth  lay  on  the  wide  settee  propped  by  pillows, 
and  read  romance,  essay  and  poem,  not  unskillfully. 
Then,  when  the  sun  went  down  and  the  cliff  deepened 
the  gloaming,  the  yellow-toothed  old  upright  fairly 
Tattled  with  musical  laughter;  and  songs  —  with 
some  duets  he  had  taught  her — occupied  the  time  of 
the  girl  and  the  soldier,  if  not  wholl}^  the  thoughts 
of  both. 

For — sewing  briskly,  darning,  or  even  kneading 
simple  dough,  or  mixing  promising  egg-batter  in  the 
room  near  by,  as  the  patient  talked,  or  read— Jen 
Freeman's  mind  w^as  actively  at  work     First  she 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  127 

•wondered  much  at  the  strange  coming  into  her  quiet 
life,  of  this  man  so  difterent  from, — yes,  so  superior 
to, — anv  she  had  met  before.  But,  womanlike  she 
Yielded  to  those  twin  influences,  Propinquity  and 
Chance ;  and  now,  that  wonder  becoming  matter  of 
course,  she  began  to  grow  restive  under  her  own 
cross-examination ;  albeit  none  the  less  involuntary 
than  it  was  vigorous.  Nor  had  she  confined  it  to 
herself  alone ;  for,  with  tact  and  delicacy, — but  with 
absorbing  curiositv, — she  had  led  the  voung  man  to 
much  talk  of  his  home  and  of  himself  Stella,  his 
favorite  sister  and  senior  by  two  years,  Jen  Freeman 
felt  was  alreadv  a  known  and  liked  personality ;  and 
the  w-ord-portrait  of  the  stately,  dignified  grand- 
dame— tracing  her  descent  back  far  beyond  James- 
town, and  careless  whether  the  sun  rose  far  be\'ond 
Virginia  and  went  to  rest  distant  from  her  western 
slopes  or  not  —  was  perhaps  more  clearly  visible, 
through  the  boy's  loving  and  prideful  chatter,  than 
she  was  in  the  miniature  at  which  the  girl  so  often 
gazed. 

And  though  no  whit  a  fop,  as  has  been  said,  Bev. 
Latham  still  held  good  opinion  of  himself  and  of  his 
own;  result,  most  largely  of  decided  spoiling  at 
home,  and  next  of  its  continuance  at  school,  and  in 
so  much  of  society  as  he  had  seen,  under  influence  of 
his  frank,  genial  manhood  and  bright  mentality.  So 
the  lonely  girl  knew  by  rote  the  salient  events  of  his 
life;  his  school  escapades,  terminating  with  the 
truant  trip  to  follow  the  drum;  his  "hair  breadth 
'scapes  i'  th'  imminent  deadly  breach  "—modestly 
told  as  these  were,  with  no  suspicion  of  vaunt ;  his 


128  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

first  wound;  and  over  and  again,  his  "leading"  of 
that  Asian  mystery  to  her,  "the  German,"  amid 
scenes  of  but  haH'-comprehended  brilliance  and 
delight. 

Often,  as  the  glib  narrator  rattled  over  these 
themes, — perhaps  more  intent  upon  their  memory 
than  suspicious  of  their  effect, — Jen  Freeman's  swiftly- 
moving  fingers  would  rest  a  moment  in  her  lap ;  the 
brown  eyes  would  gaze  intenth'  into  nothingness^ 
growing  deeper  and  more  meaning.  Then — without 
a  start,  but  always  with  a  half  sigh — the  girl  would 
wake  from  the  day-dream  of  an  instant,  the  fingers 
seeming  bent  on  more  than  making  up  lost  time,  and 
the  eyes  bent  steadily  upon  the  fingers.  But — ques- 
tioned on  oath,  before  a  jury  of  her  peers — the  moun- 
tain maiden  had  surely  perjured  herself,  had  she 
attempted  plain  formulation  of  the  matter  of  her 
furtive  thought  at  such  moment. 

Propinquity  and  Chance  had  doubtless  begun 
their  usual  work,  but  its  finish  was  barred  by 
the  sound  comiuon  sense  habitant  in  the  sound  brain 
and  body  of  the  self-respecting  woman ;  and  while 
her  mind  was  ever  full  of  her  ever-present 
guest,  there  came  to  her  ever,  likewise,  sage  and 
saving  reflection.  And  these,  the  portraits  and  his 
frank  talk  of  places  and  of  people  wholly  strange, 
largeh'  aided  for  her  safety.  His  people  and  his  sur- 
roundings were  so  different  from  hers ;  luxur}-,  refine- 
ment and  higher  cultivation,  in  place  of  homel}^  com- 
fort and  sterling,  self-respecting  honesty.  So  Jen 
Freeman  had  committed  no  perjury — responding  to 
that  hinted  cross-examining  "jury  of  her  peers" — 


JOHN    HOLUEN,    UNIONIST.  129 

had  she  boldly  and  simph^  stated  she  AA'as  not  in  love 
with  Mr.  Latham,  and  that  she  surely  never  would  be  I 
Did  she  like  him  ?  Surely,  yes ;  so  frank,  honest  and 
brave,  yet  so  considerate  and  gentle  withal.  More 
than  an3'  man  she  had  met  before?  Well,  yes;  and 
naturally,  too,  for  he  was  of  a  different  mould,  as. 
w^ell  as  of  a  different  world,  from  theirs — and  hers. 
Would  she  miss  him  when  he  rode  to  the  wars  again? 
WofulU',  beyond  a  doubt ;  for  the  companionship 
had  been  very  interesting,  quite  improving  and  very 
— sweet  to  her.  The  days  would  not  glide  so  swiftly; 
the  evenings  with  dear  old  papa  would  seem  a 
trifle  prosy  at  first ;  the  well  known  paths  about 
the  inountain  would  be  lonelier  then — would  lack  a 
something  scarce  describable.  Then  the  accustomed 
old  life  would  settle  back  naturally  once  more,  and  a 
pleasant  memory"  would  be  all  the  result  left  by  this. 
— episode. 

Much  this  had  been  the  girl's  answer  to  her  jury ; 
and  an  honest  answer,  too.  Such  was  the  frequent 
answer  to  the  silent  questioning  of  that  best  Mentor, 
which  had  borne  her  safely  so  far  on  her  unaided  path 
of  life — her  pure  conscience.  And  satisfying  that, 
Jen  Freeman  might  well  have  satisfied  Mrs.  Grundy 
and  "her  army  with  banners"  of  hint  and  innuendo ; 
had,  indeed,  the  name  of  that  ubiquitous  feminine 
free  lance  yet  penetrated  the  pure  echoes  of  Sand 
Mountain. 

What  the  man  felt,  as  the  weeks  sped  on,  he  him- 
self never  stopped  to  analyze.  That  thev  were  speed- 
ing pleasanth^  was  all  he  recked,  save  perhaps  that 
they  sped  a  trifle  too  fast.    Young,  ardent  and  not 

9 


130  JOHN    HOLUEN,    UNIONIST. 

wholly  unspoiled  as  he  was,  to  gather  him  roses 
while  he  might,  had  ever  been  Bev.  Latham's  philo- 
sophic habit.  And,  now  that  time  was  so  swiftly  fly- 
ing, he  never  stopped  to  question  the  result  of  their 
plucking.  Thorns  there  would  be  in  plent^^  soon, 
when  he  got  back  to  camp  dreariness  and  camp  fare; 
so  the  ever-indulged  hand  went  out  greedih^  for  the 
gathering,  taking  care  of  the  petals,  but  leaving 
the  thorns  to  take  care  of  themselves.  Did  he  love 
the  girl?  Asked  this  question  before  the  jur}^,  the 
man  had  truly  sworn  that  he  had  never  ^-et  asked  it  of 
himself!  Admire  her  piquant  face  and  almost  per- 
fect figure  he  surely  did  ;  more  still  her  loyal,  stead- 
fast honesty  of  purpose  and  of  speech,  her  bright 
intelligent  naturalness,  that  had  made  her  attract- 
ive as  she  was,  spite  of  circumstance  and  surround- 
ing. But  deeper  than  this,  the  mental  probe  had 
not  gone  into  the  spirit ;  and  the  probing  process 
being  a  bore,  and  Bev.  hating  boredom  in  its  everv 
form,  he  had  tossed  aside  the  useful,  if  sometimes 
painful,  instrument,  reliant  upon  Nature  to  effect  a 
cure  of  any  "v^^ound  of  her  ov^^n  making. 

Bev.  Latham  had  never  been  really  in  love,  as  far 
as  he  understood  that  phrase  and  himself.  At  nine- 
teen he  had  been ' '  engaged  "  to  a  brunette  beauty,  who 
had  accepted  the  offer  of  a  trip  to  Europe  should  she 
give  up  her  girlish  folly;  but  who  had  forgotten  to 
return  his  handsome  solitaire,  and  many  another 
"token."  But — to  his  shame, possibly — the  man  had 
forgotten  her,  too ;  so  they  were  quits,  he  would  have 
reasoned,  had  he  remembered. 


JOHN     HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  131 

And  as  for  Jen  Freeman,  she  never  once  even  won- 
dered at  his  feeHng  for  her.  PanopHed  in  the  purity 
of  her  womanhood, — safely  intrenched  behind  her 
proper  self-respect, — she  could  well  await  the  possible 
shock  of  that  onset,  which  intuition  whispers  to 
most  female  hearts  must  come,  ere  the  battle  of  life 
be  fully  joined!  But  faintest  hint  even,  to  herself, 
that  this  man  placed  her  in  his  heart  above  another, 
had  shocked  the  girl's  innate  delicac^^;  and  so  the 
slight  tumult  in  her  bosom  was  wholly  introspective 
when  it  came,  challenging  her  own  feelings,  perhaps, 
but  his — never ! 

"What  makes  you  think  mother  proud,  Miss  Jen," 
Latham  queried,  taking  up  her  question  again,  and 
fixing  his  eyes  steadily  upon  her.  "I  am  sure  her  let- 
ter, thanking  you  all,  did  not  suggest  it." 

"It  was  a  lovely — dear  letter,"  the  girl  answered 
simply.  "And  so  was  your  sister's;  but  they  both 
said  so  much  more  than  we  deserved.  I'm  sure,  Mr. 
Latham,  papa  and  I  would  have  done  quite  as  much 
for  anybody! " 

"For  anybody? ^^  He  echoed  her  words  with  some 
feeling  in  the  tone,  but  certainly  with  some  surprise ; 
and  his  cheek  flushed  under  some  strong  emotion. 

"For  anyone  -who  wears  the  gray,"  Jen  corrected 
herself,  quietly,  "  and  who  was  wounded  fighting  for 
us.    You  knew  I  meant  that." 

"Yes,  I  fear  I  did,"  he  answered,  never  dropping  his 
eyes,  now  fixed  so  eagerly  on  hers  that  they  fell  once 
more  upon  her  busy  fingers. 

There  was  a  little  pause,  which  she  broke: 


132  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"But  my  question  was  a  rude  one,  for  it  inter- 
rupted your  reading.  Go  on,  please  —  if  you  are  not 
tired." 

"I  am  not  tired,"  he  answered,  promptly;  but  he 
closed  the  book  -with  a  snap,  laying  it  on  his  knee. 
"But  first  I  want  to  ask  you  something.  Will  you 
answer  me  frankU-  ?  ' ' 

"Yes, — if  I  can."  She  hesitated  almost  impercepti- 
bly, but  her  voice  was  very  quiet. 

"And  I  know  you  can,"  he  went  on  hastily.  "Am 
I  just  the  same  to  you,  as — 'anybody'?  When  I 
leave  you  this  week  and  ride  away  again,  will  you 
have  no  memory  of  me  but  as  a  passing  acquaint- 
ance? Will  3'ou  forget  me  as  you  would  —  an}-- 
body?" 

"  Why,  certainly  not !  "  the  girl  began,  with  a  frank 
smile,  as  she  flashed  one  glance  of  her  great,  brown 
eyes  into  his.  But  something  she  saw  there  —  scarce 
comprehended — dropped  hers  quickly ;  and  she  added, 
more  reservedh':  "For  we  are  —  friends,  Mr. 
Latham.  We  have  both  said  so,  and  I  meant  it.  I 
do  not  give  m^^  friendship  lightU^,  and  I  do  not  for- 
get mv  friends." 

"Thank  you  for  that,  you  dear,  honest  girl!"  he 
cried  eagerly,  "even  if  that  be — all !  " 

She  made  no  reply ;  to  her  there  seemed  none  to 
make ;  but,  after  a  moment,  he  blurted  out : 

"What  is  friendship  ?  " 

To  that  abtruse  proposition,  which  has  puzzled 

the  sages  from  the   da^'s   of   David   dovk'n  through 

those  of  Damon  and   Dean  Swift, — even  to  those 

nearer  ones  of  George  Eliot  and  Freda  Ward, — the 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  133 

clear  head  and  pure  heart  of  the  mountain  girl  simply 
answered : 

"The  feeling  of  two  people  who  respect  each  other 
and  are  congenial." 

"No;  but  I  mean  personally,"  he  retorted  eagerly 
and  a  trifle  petulantly.  "  Do  you  believe  it  can  exist 
between — a — man  and  a  woman?  " 

"Why,  Mr.  Latham!"  Again  the  brown  eyes 
raised  to  his,  no  fear,  but  some  wonder  in  them.  "I 
have  said  I  was  yourfriend.     Of  course  I  believe  so !  " 

"But,  I  mean  alwa\'s?  Can  it  remain  constant — 
unchanged — and  be  only  friendship?  The  poet  was 
right : — 

'Oh!  call  it  by  some  other  name, 
For  Friendship  is  too  cold  ; 
And  Love  is  now  an  earthly  flame, 
Whose  shrine  must  be  of  gold ! ' 

You  must  know  that  is  true !  " 

Jen  Freeman's  lips  formed  a  half-smile;  but  some- 
thing her  eyes  caught,  coming  into  the  man's  as  he 
spoke,  froze  it  on  them,  and  she  grew  paler  as  she 
looked  at  him.  On  the  dark  mountain  path,  she  had 
often  noted  how  clear  and  plain  showed  every  minute 
object  in  the  brief  flash  of  the  lightning.  And  now,  she 
felt  she  had  been  treading  blindly,  selfishly  along  an 
unknown  road ;  standing  at  last  on  the  very  verge  of 
the  precipice,  revealed  b^^  the  sudden  gleam.  For  Jen 
Freeman,  simple  and  guileless  as  she  was,  read  the 
full  meaning  of  the  man's  glance ;  and,  boyish  as  \vas 
his  speech,  and  fustian  as  it  had  seemed  to  the  young 
worldling  of  a  dozen  ballrooms,   to  the  mountain 


ISi  JOHN    HOLDEX,   UNIONIST. 

maiden,  it  was — revelation  I  Her  own  e\'es  fell  and 
her  hands  dropped  limp  in  her  lap ;  but  she  tittered 
no  word,  only  grew  paler  and  more  grave  as  the  man 
went  on  vehemently : 

"You  cannot  misunderstand  me !  You  must  know 
that  I  cannot  go  away  merely  as  your  '  friend ' !  Y'oit 
must  understand  that  no  man  could  be  thrown  Avith 
you,  as  I  have  been,  and  not  fed  the  influence  of  your 
gentle,  noble  nature — of  a  heart  and  soul  that  are 
peerless  among  all  the  Avomen  I  have  ever  known!  " 

The  girl  never  moved;  but  the  little  frill  upon  her 
bosom  rose  and  fell,  as  an  anchored  skiff  upon  a 
wind-swept  surf;  and  a  flood  of  crimson  dyed  her 
cheeks,  as  she  found  voice  to  cry : 

"  Oh !  stop !  you  must  not !  " 

"Why  must  I  not  ?  I  am  not  ashamed — no,  not 
afraid — to  say  it !  "  the  youth  cried.  "Why  should  I 
not  believe  you  the  noblest  —  best — dearest  Avoman  I 
have  met  in  all  my  life  ?  Why  should  I  be  aught  but 
proud,  to  tell  you — I  love  you?" 

It  must  be  recalled  that  Beverly  Latham  had  scarce 
passed  his  majority ;  that  the  girl  was  still  his  junior^ 
by  at  least  two  years ;  and  that  no  man  had  yet 
spoken  to  her  the  words  her  cit}^  sisters  hear  so  often 
and  so  early.  So,  when  his  hand  gently  prisoned 
hers,  and  held  it  in  a  strong  and  ardent  clasp,  small 
wonder  is  it  that  the  slim,  brown  fingers  trembled ; 
that  the  little  frill  heaved  and  tossed,  as  though  the 
storm  within  v^-ere  dangerous ! 

But — softly  and  not  ungently — the  little  hand 
slipped  from  his  clasp ;  and,  while  the  burning  flush 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  135 

still  stood  Upon  her  cheek,  the  voice  trembled  that 
exclaimed : 

"  Oh,  hush !     It  is  wrong — mean,  of  you !  " 

"Whj-  is  it  wrong?  How  is  it  mean?"  the  boy 
asked,  impetuoush'.  "I  have  loved  you,  almost  ever 
since  that  first  night !  I  have  thought  of  you  upon 
the  march — on  picket !  And  since  your  gentle,  pre- 
cious tending  of  me  here — oh,  Jen,  you  must  have 
known — you  must  have  seen—  " 

"Stop,  Mr.  Latham!  You  must!"  The  red  disc 
still  glowed  on  either  cheek,  and  the  lips  that  formed 
her  brief  words  trembled.  But  not  one  shadow  of 
fear — far  less  of  triumph — dimmed  the  brave,  honest 
glance  of  the  eyes  that  Jen  Freeman  raised  to  his, 
"Had  I  known — had  I  seen — or  even  suspected — any- 
thing of  this,  I  should  have  been  lacking  in  honesty — 
in  self-respect,  to  have  been  as  frank  and  friendly  as  I 
have!" 

"  But  you  do  believe  me,  Jen?  You  know  I  speak 
from  my  heart?  "  he  insisted. 

Again  her  e\'es  fell;  again  her  lips  moved,  but  no 
sound  came  from  them.  Twice  the  half-formed 
phrase  halted  at  the  threshold  of  speech  ere  she  could 
reply : 

"Yes,  I  believe !    I  fear  it  is  true !" 
He  rose  above  her;  standing  before  her  with  out- 
stretched hands,  as  he  pled  : 

"And,  believing,  you  will  give  me  no  hope — no 
answer?  " 

"How  can  I?"  she  said  low,  her  head  bowed. 

"Tell  me  I  may  hope!"  he  Avent  on  impetuously. 
"Tell  me  that  vou  care  for  no  one  else;  that  some 


136  JOHN    H OLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

day — knowing  me  better  and  finding  me  not  all 
unworthy — you  mar  care  for  me !  Tell  me  that  you 
do  not  feel  to  me  as  to — '  anybody'  I  " 

And  again  the  woman — still  with  bowed  head,  but 
heart  in  too  gi'eat  tumult  even  for  question — 
answered  low : 

"How  can  I?" 

"What!  There  is  another?"  he  cried,  hotlv.  "I 
have  come  too  late  ?     It  was  to  meet  him — " 

He  paused  abruptly,  the  wonder  in  the  eves  the 
girl  lifted  to  him  cutting  oft"  speech.  But  she  rose, 
too ;  quietly,  gravely  and  facing  him,  with  hands 
lightly  crossed  before  her.  Then  she  spoke  quietly 
and  sadly,  stopping  him  by  a  gesture — or  an  inflec- 
tion— when  he  w^ould  have  interrupted  : 

"I  do  not  understand.  There  is  no  'other.'  You 
are  the  first  who  has  ever  spoken  so  to  me — God  for- 
give me !  if  through  any  fault  of  mine.  But  I  cannot 
let  your  fancy  carry  you  away  like  this ;  for — almost 
strangers  as  we  are — I  respect  you — I  like  you — too 
well!" 

"Then  you  do  not  despise  me!"  he  cried,  again 
seizing  her  hands  in  a  clasp  that  resisted  her  woman's 
strength.     "You  at  least — respect — like  me?" 

"I  do;  beyond  anyone  I  have  knowm,"  the  girl 
answered  bravelv,  ceasing  the  bootless  struggle  to 
free  her  hands.  "You  are  so  gentle,  so  brave,  so 
much  above  me  in  many  ways.  I  honor  you,  and 
prize  your  friendship,  more  than  I  can  say." 

"And — there  is  no  one  else?"  he  pleaded,  almost 
piteously.     "You  will  let  me  hope?" 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  137 

Her  eves  fell  once  more.  Again  the  simple  little 
frill  fluttered  and  shook,  as  though  the  wind  swayed 
it ;  and,  spite  ol  her  struggle,  the  voice  trembled  that 
answ^ered : 

"I  must  not  say  so.  There  is  no  other,  but  I  can- 
not say  so!"  Thei:e  was  little  of  the  meekness  of 
Ruth,  in  the  simple  mountain  girl ;  and,  with  a  deep 
breath,  she  went  on  more  calmh-:  "Let  go  ray 
hands,  please  I  Oh!  Mr.  Latham,  we  are  so  differ- 
ent ;  our  people  are  so  different !  You  are  highborn 
and  polished ;  I  am  humble  and  simple.  This  is  a 
fancy."  She  shook  her  head  sadly,  but  half  smiled, 
as  she  raised  her  free  hands  in  deprecation.  "No;  I 
believe  you  mean  it — now!  I  respect  you  too  much 
to  doubt  that  you — believe  you  feel  it  all.  But,  now, 
you  are  weak — away  from  friends;  and  perhaps — " 
she  paused  an  instant,  then  went  bravely  on — "your 
latitude  mistakes.  Think  how  different  I  am — from 
women  you  have  known  —  from  them!" 

She  held  out  the  locket  with  faces  of  his  mother 
and  sister,  that  had  not  left  her  hands.  And  the 
straightforward  honesty  of  the  simple  girl  went 
home,  as  the  worldling's  tact  had  never  done. 
Almost  mechanicalh"  he  took  the  locket ;  turning 
abruptly  from  her  and  striding  to  the  other  end  of 
the  porch. 

For  an  instant,  Jen  Freeman  watched  him  with 
parted  lips  and  heaving  bosom ;  the  color  dropping 
out  of  her  cheeks,  till  they  grew  deadly  white.  One 
instant  her  hand  pressed  close  above  her  heart. 
Then,  quietly,  demurely  she  took  her  seat  again,  her 
nimble  finders  flashing-  the  needle  through  her  work. 


138  JOHN    HOI.DEN,    UNIONIST. 

And  soon  Latham  turned  and  came  toward  her^ 
quiet,  gentle  and  with  something  in  his  face  she  had 
not  seen  before. 

"Jen,  you  will  forgive  me?"  he  said,  gravely  but 
tenderly.  "I  was  selfish — careless  of  you,  dear,  to 
speak  as  I  did.  But  love  is  ever  selfish,  little  girl, 
and  I  do  love  you ;  not  as  3'ou  fear,  for  to-day,  but 
for  to-morrow  and  forever!  No,  dear,  do  not  stop 
me  now.  I  will  not  Aveary  you  by  repeating  it. 
But,  Jen,  I  think  I  know  3'our  heart;  I  trust  you 
with  the  bigot's  trust  in  his  faith.  You  will  not  tell 
me  that  I  mav ;  but — as  there  is  no  other — I  will 
hope !  I  will  believe  that  some  day,  when  the  South 
is  free — when  we  are  both  free  to  think  of  more  than 
duty — when  you  have  seen  them,  and  learned  that 
they  are  not  'so  different' — then  you  may  question 
your  own  heart  and  find  mine  not  all  unworth\' 
ofit." 

As  he  spoke,  the  girl  sat  still  and  silent,  letting  no 
sigii  betrav  what  feeling  swayed  her  as  she  listened. 
But  her  head  bowed  lower  under  its  red-brown 
coronet  of  hair;  and  as  he  ceased  it  drooped,  and  the 
face  was  hidden  by  her  hands.  The  man  gave  a  great 
start,  half  reaching  out  his  own,  to  grasp  them ;  but 
he  paused,  shaking  his  head  sadly,  as  he  stooped  and 
raised  the  fallen  volume  of  Longfellow.  Mechanic- 
ally he  opened  it  and  glanced  upon  the  page;  the 
girl  still  silent,  motionless.  Then  he  spoke  softly,. 
with  a  sad  quiet  in  his  words : 

"You  have  my  pledge,  Jen.  Until  we  part — so  soon 
now ! — I  will  embarrass  you  no  more,  dear  little  one, 
bv  such  words.    You  forgive  mv  selfishness,  I  know ; 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  139- 

for,  Jen,  I  could  not  lielp  speaking — I  felt  so  keenly 
this,"  and  in  low,  but  steady  voice  he  read: 

'For  there  are  moments  in  life,  when  the  heart  is  so  full  of 

emotion, 
That  if  b^'  chance  it  be  shaken,  or  into  its  depths,  like  a 

pebble. 
Drops  some  careless  word  —  it  overflows,  and  its  secret. 
Spilt  on  the  ground,  like  water,  may  never   be  gathered 

together!'" 

He  closed  the  book,  took  her  hands  gently ;  and, 
bending  down,  pressed  his  lips  upon  them  Avith  a 
tenderness  that  was  a  benediction.  Next  moment 
he  turned  and  strode  away  into  the  grounds ;  mov- 
ing rapidly  and  never  looking  back. 

Jen  Freeman  sat  still  and  pale,  her  hands  plying 
her  needle  mechanically,  her  eyes  fixed  upon  some- 
thing straight  before  her,  but  seen  of  them  only. 
Suddenly  she  rose,  moved  swifth^  to  her  own  room, 
locking  the  door  behind  her.  Then,  the  usually  calm 
girl  threw  herself  upon  her  bed,  shivering  a  moment 
and  bur3'ing  her  face  in  the  pillow.  Then  she  lay 
still  as  though  a  sculptured  form  upon  a  tomb ;  but 
the  pure  heart  was  pouring  out  an  earnest  prayer  for 
liffht  at  the  foot  of  the  Throne ! 


CHAPTER  XI. 

OVER  THE   HILLS   AND   FAR   AWAY. 

A  DULL,  heavy  cloud  hung  low  over  the  north 
crest  an  hour  after  sunrise,  and  Farmer  Freeman 
studied  it  from  the  gallery  with  the  eye  of  an  expert. 
In  the  window  Latham  leaned  languidly,  and  a 
trifle  paler  than  his  wont ;  but  his  closely  buttoned 
jacket  and  trim  belt  showed  that  he  was  read\^  for 
duty,  and  that  the  pallor  came  perhaps  from  mental, 
rather  than  from  bodily  weakness.  And  his  wander- 
ing ej'cs,  roving  over  each  familiar  object  in  the 
room,  from  the  prim  old  mirror — narrow,  in  tar- 
nished gilt  frame  and  standing  from  the  wall  at  an 
angle  of  forty-five  stiff  degrees — to  the  highh'  colored 
prints  of  the  battles  in  Mexico,  where  reckless 
Charley  May  careered  and  Captain  Bragg — of  greater 
and  more  familiar  fame, near  by — gave  them  "a  little 
more  grape,"  studied  each  detail. 

With  a  slight  rustle  of  drapery,  Latham  turned 
and  the  lately  wandering  eyes  fixed  upon  Jen 
Freeman,  as  she  came  from  the  dining  room.  She 
was  quiet,  simple  and  unconscious,  as  always,  look- 
ing fresh  and  pretty  in  her  plain  white  dress,  neat 
little  apron  and  \vith  the  bands  of  glossy  hair  simply 
knotted  low  on  her  neck.    There  was  a  ^ravitv  in  her 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  141- 

eves,  and  less  brightness  in  her  smile,  perhaps,  as  she 
advanced  and  held  out  her  hand  in  good-morning  to 
her  guest;  for  he  was  to  leave  after  breakfast  and 
ride  a  war  to — what  none  might  guess.  But  there 
was  not  one  shade  of  reserve  or  of  consciousness  in 
her  manner;  for  Latham  had  kept  faith  loyally.  In 
the  days  intervening  since  his  abrupt  confession,  he 
had  gone  back  to  the  old  life,  talking,  reading  and 
singing  with  the  girl,  as  though  no  break  had  come. 
Sometimes,  especially  in  mountain  rambles,  he  had 
grown  absent  awhile,  and  his  voice  had  taken  ten- 
derer cadence ;  but  he  had  kept  his  word  like  a  gentle- 
man and  had  spoken  no  hint  of  love,  or  even  of 
admiration.  But  he  talked  more  of  his  home  and 
his  people,  of  his  past  ga\'  life,  and  told  Jen  the  full 
story  of  his  boyish  engagement,  simply  and  without 
reserve;  for  he  seemed  to  \vish  that  her  memory  of 
him  should  be  photographic  in  fidelity,  holding  the 
blemishes  as  well  as  the  better  points  of  his  career. 

And  the  girl  had  listened  and  talked  as  before. 
Sometimes — Avhen  he  dwelt  upon  the  grandeur  of  his 
mother's  ideas,  or  described  a  peculiarly  brilliant 
scene  of  society — a  dull,  vague  longing  would  creep 
into  the  well-balanced  brain ;  but  ever  to  fade  before- 
she  analyzed,  or  even  recognized,  it.  And,  when  he 
told  the  story  of  his  flying  fiancee  and  missing  ring, 
Jen's  clear  laugh  had  answered  the  rueful  tale,  even 
before  she  cried,  in  pretty  disdain : 

"  How  little  and  mean  of  her  I  I  congratulate  you, 
Mr,  Latham,  on  3'our  escape  —  in  time.  Such  a  girl 
could  never  have  grown  worthy  of  3'ou — and  of 
yours! " 


142  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

So  the  daj'S  had  passed,  swiftly,  still  and  pain- 
lessly ;  and  now  the  parting  was  at  hand — uncertain 
ever  in  the  war  days,  and  more  so  now  as  rumors 
came  of  general  movement  along  Bragg's  front. 

"It  is  needless  to  speak  my  regrets  at  going,"  the 
man  said  grayelj,  but  releasing  the  little  hand  after 
a  not  too  warm  pressure.  "Things are  so  uncertain; 
and  there  is  no  telling  how  long  it  may  be  before  I 
again  see  my — friend." 

"I  hope,  and  I  believe  we  shall  meet  again,"  the 
girl  answered  gently,  but  her  ej^es  did  not  meet  his. 
They  rested  absently  on  a  stiff-haired  portrait  of 
Andrew  Jackson  on  the  wall  beyond ;  then  seemed  to 
«tudy  intently  the  framed  copy  of  the  "Declaration 
of  Independence,"  almost  as  sacred  to  the  democrats 
of  the  old  South  as  were  the  Tables  of  Stone  to  the 
Hebrew  of  eld. 

"And  I  hope  you  will  not  stay  here  alwaj^s," 
Latham  said  absently,  as  though  thinking  aloud. 
"Lovely  as  is  your  home,  and  strangeh^  as  you  have 
developed  in  it,  you  are  really  too  far  superior  to 
your  surroundings  to  be  buried  in  this  out-of-the- 
world  nook." 

"It  is  my  home,  and  I  have  never  longed  for  the 
world,"  she  answered  simply;  but  she  half  sighed  as 
her  eyes  left  the  Declaration  and  rested  on  the  music 
they  had  sung  the  night  before.  "I  never  wish  to 
leave  papa.  He  is  all  that  I  have  in  the  w-orld  ;  and, 
though  he  urges  me  often,  I  will  not  accept  auntie's 
offer  to  go  to  Wilmington— even  to  Europe,  on  a 
blockade-runner,  if  I  wish." 

"I  am  glad  of  that!"  the  man  blurted  out. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  143 

"Why?"  she  asked,  simply.  "Surely,  from  what 
you  have  told  me  of  it,  seeing  your  world  would 
improye  a  cotmtr}-  girl  like  me." 

"I  would  not  see  you  improved,  if  it  meant  any 
change  of  your  pure,  true  nature,  "he  answered,  more 
earnestly.  "It  was  these  that  taught  me  to — to  be 
your — friend  !  " 

He  ended  abruptly,  and  with  a  yivid  blush.  The 
cynic  need  not  sneer ;  lor  in  that  year  of  grace,  A.  D. 
1863,  there  were  still  left  in  the  South  a  few  young 
men,  who  could  blush  on  proper  occasion.  Ebeu, 
temporal  Eheu,  mores!  The  species  has  grown 
almost  as  extinct  as  the  Dodo ;  and  now  when  the 
blush  does  exist,  it  sometimes  mantles  tenderly  on 
the  tip  of  the  nose!  But  this  particular  Dodo  pulled 
himself  together  promptl}^  coyering  his  confusion 
w^ith  the  commonplace : 

"  But  this  war  cannot  last  foreyer;  and  then  you 
may  care  more  to  see  something  of  society." 

"I  should  not  wish  to  wait  till  then,  to  see  some- 
thing of  my  friends,"  Jen  said,  frankly. 

"Surely  not!"  he  answered,  appropriating  her 
thought.  "We  will  meet  again.  Miss  Jen,  I  feel  sure. 
Did  I  not,  I  should  be—" 

What  that  young  lieutenant  of  cavalry  imagined 
he  might  become,  during  protracted  absence  from  his 
companion,  must  take  its  place  in  that  limbo  of 
unperformed  deeds  and  of  unspoken  speeches,  which 
Ariosto  declares  to  exist  in  the  moon.  For  the 
farmer  turned  and  strode  toward  the  window,  say- 
insr: 


144  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

"  Look  here,  leftenant,  these  clouds  look  danger- 
ous; and  a  wetting  won't  help  a  fresh  convalescent. 
Better  stay  over  till  to-morrow." 

Good  soldier  as  Latham  was,  his  heart  bounded 
strangely  at  the  blunt  words,  and  his  eves  went 
straight  to  Jen's,  with  something  of  the  drowning 
man's  hope  in  clutching  at  the  straw.  But  her  eyes 
were  turned  to  her  father's,  and  she  only  said,  very 
gravely  and  demurely : 

"Why,  papa!  Mr.  Latham  has  orders,  and  the 
rumors  say  the  enemy  is  moving.  Even  I  would  not 
ask  him — "  a  little  blush  came  to  her  cheek  as  she 
paused ;  but  she  looked  calmly  at  the  discussed  sol- 
dier, finishing  a  little  hastily — "even  to  dela}^  his 
breakfast  longer.     It  will  be  cold ;  let  us  go  in." 

"Thank  you,  very  much!"  Latham  said  to  the 
girl ;  but  whether  to  her  invitation,  or  to  her  implied 
wnllingness  to  have  him  go,  was  left  obscure.  And 
he  added  to  the  farmer,  but  looking  at  her,  as  he 
promptly  fell  into  line  for  the  breakfast-room :  "  Miss 
Jen  is  right.  I  have  already  w^asted  too  much  time 
— uselessly.  The  best  thing  I  can  do  now  is  to  get 
back  to  active  duty  and  find  something  better 
to  do!" 

"Well,  you  know  best;  but  you  need  n't  be  fretting 
for  fighting.  I  reckon  this  war  will  last  long  enough 
to  let  all  of  you  have  a  stomach  full  of  fighting,  if 
empty  of  everything  else.  Try  that  piece  of  chicken. 
Jen  gro wed  him  ! ' ' 

But  even  farewell  breakfasts  will  not  last  forever, 
and  somehow  at  this  one  the  soldier's  unfailing  appe- 
tite did  not  report  for  duty.    It  was  not  a  cheery 


"CURSID   BE  YER!"— Page  151. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  145 

meal,  Jen's  mind  seeming  bent  on  household  cares 
and  hospitable  duty,  and  the  guest  replying  some- 
what at  random  to  Mr.  Freeman's  talk  on  politics 
and  his  views  of  the  war.  So,  it  was  with  absolute 
sense  of  relief  that  Latham  found  himself  outside  the 
porch,  his  horse  ready  and  the  small  baggage-roll 
strapped  to  the  saddle. 

The  warm,  strong  grasp  of  the  farmer  had  released 
his  hand,  after  hearty  Godspeed  and  urgent  request 
to  ride  down  whenever  in  distance,  and  the  guest 
turned  a  pale,  grave  face  to  Jen.  She  had  put  on  her 
sunbonnet  and  held  her  pail  of  dampened  meal ;  and 
her  face,too,  w^as  grave,  but  gentle  and  not  pale. 

"My  little  family  must  be  hungry  and  wondering," 
she  said,  with  a  transient  smile.  "I  "will  v^alk  with 
you  as  far  as  the  knoll." 

He  looped  the  bridle  over  hie  arm  and  they  moved 
away  in  silence,  broken  only  by  commonplaces  about 
the  coming  storm.  But  Jen  passed  the  knoll,  forget- 
ful of  her  little  family  and  their  hungering,  walking 
on  toward  the  gate. 

There  Latham  paused,  looking  yearningly  at  the 
downcast  face  of  the  girl,  gentle  but  very  grave  in  the 
sunless  daylight.  But  he  was  still  silent,  though  his 
face  spoke  plainly  of  deep  feeling.  And  yet — with 
that  incomprehensible  working  of  the  mind,  which 
takes  cognizance  often  of  veriest  trifles  in  the  very 
crises  of  life — he  noted  the  tan  upon  her  cheek  and  the 
splash  of  freckles  over  her  piquant  nose.  Suddenly 
he  thrust  his  hand  into  his  jacket,  holding  out  the 
locket : 

10 


146  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"Mother  and  Stella  know  you  so  well,"  he  said, 
with  a  forced  smile,  "that  I  would  have  you  say 
good-bye  to  them,  too." 

She  extended  her  browned  hand — now  less  white 
than  his  rest-bleached  one — and  took  the  miniatures; 
looking  long  and  gravely  at  them.  Then  she  returned 
them  with  a  little  sigh,  as  she  said:  " Farewells  are 
so  uncertain,  in  these  days,  Mr.  Latham,  that  I  hate 
to  speak  them.  I,  too,  feel  almost  as  if  I  knew  your 
mother  and — Stella.  But,  gracious !  How  carelessly 
you  carry  that  locket !  You  should  fasten  it  in  ^^our 
pocket." 

"I  have  never  thought  I  could  lose  it;  but  you  are 
right.    How  can  I  secure  it?"  he  answered. 

"Very  simply.  Pin  it  to  the  lining,"  she  said. 
Impulsively  she  pulled  off  her  ungainly  sunbonnet, 
leaving  the  soft,  brown  hair  uncovered  to  the  breeze 
that  began  to  breathe  out  of  the  dingy  clouds.  And 
Latham's  cheek  flushed,  as  he  noted  that  their  rippling 
masses  held  "  a  knot  of  ribbon  blue,"  which  he  recog- 
nized as  the  same  broad  band  she  had  playfully  made 
him  wear  in  place  of  his  discarded  sling  on  the 
wounded  arm. 

"  You  mean  to  wear  that  ribbon  ?  "  he  asked  hastily; 
but  his  eyes  gleamed  meaningful. 

"Why  not?"  she  answered,  wdthout  looking  up. 
"It  is  a  nice  ribbon,  even  if  aunty  does  keep  me  sup- 
plied from  her  blockade  treasures.  And  then" — her 
voice  softened  a  little — "it  has  been  useful  to  a— 
friend." 

"  Thank  you !    I  can  never  forget  that ! "  he  cried. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  147 

She  looked  gravely  at  him, with  never  a  blush,  as 
she  answered,  simply: 

"It  is  a  very  little  thing  to  remember,  I  am  sure." 
Then  she  undid  the  ribbon  deftly,  as  she  added: 
"Lend  me  your  knife." 

~^  The  slim  fingers  quickly  severed  an  end  of  the  blue 
ribbon,— though  with  rather  jagged  edges,— knotted 
them  into  the  ring  of  the  locket,  and  skillfully  pinned 
the  silk  securely  in  the  lining  of  his  pocket,  just  above 
his  heart.  Then  they  replaced  the  knot,  drew  the 
sunbonnet  over  it,  and  held  out  the  knife. 

"And  now— but  only  for  the  present,"  she  said 
simply,  "we  must  say.  Good-bye!  " 

The  gate  w^as  open,  the  impatient  horse  was  in  the 
road  and  the  man  beside  him.  But  he  seized  the 
brown  little  hand  in  a  fervid  clasp,  as  he  cried : 

"Is  this  all  you — can  say,  Jen?  " 
Again  she  let  her  ejxs  fall ;  again  a  vivid  blush  swept 
her  cheek;  and  the  voice  was  very  sweet  and  low  that 
answered  him : 

"  It  is  all  I  must  say." 

"And when  you  feel  that  I  am  leaving  you,  perhaps 
forever!     When  you  know  all  that  I — " 

"  It  is  because  of  all  I  know, ' '  she  interrupted  gently, 
"that  I  must  say  no  more.     Good-bv^e !  " 

"And  you  will  not  forget  me,  Jen?"  he  pleaded, 
still  holding  her  hand.     "  Even  if  I  am  killed —  " 

"  Heaven  forbid !  and  guard  you,  dear  friend !  "  she 
broke  in  solemnly;  and  the  hand  she  gently  withdrew 
from  his  trembled,  as  she  grew  a  shade  more  pale. 
"But  I  have  hope,  and  high  one,  for  you,  Mr.  Latham. 
I  will  think  of  you  often,  as  the  best  and  gentlest 


148  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

friend  I  have  known.  Even  if  you  go  back  to  jour 
world,  after  the  war  and  learn  to  forget  Jen  Freeman; 
even  if  you  come  to  laugh  at  all  the  things  we  have 
said, — no !  do  not  stop  me,  for  I  mean  what  I  say 
now,— then  I  will  still  be  true  to  my  promise— will 
always  be — your  friend !    So,  good-bye !  " 

Her  voice  trembled  a  little  as  she  spoke,  but  once 
more  she  fixed  her  great,  brown  eyes  bravely  on 
his ;  once  more  she  held  out  firmly  her  little  brown 
hand.  And  the  man — yielding  to  the  truth  and  will  of 
her  pure  womanhood — bent  his  head  over  it,  pressed 
his  lips  upon  it,  and,  vaxdting  to  saddle  without  one 
word,  galloped  rapidly  up  the  steep  path. 

Jen  leaned  against  the  gatepost  an  instant,  while 
swift  changes  passed  over  the  face  she  raised  to  the 
dusky  sky,  as  a  turn  shut  the  rider  from  her  view. 
Then — forgetful  of  her  little  family  and  of  their  bucket 
on  the  ground  near  by — she  turned  and  flew  toward 
the  house,  mounting  to  Master  Willie's  perch  flushed 
and  breathless,  but  with  sparkling  eyes.  Once  only 
she  spoke — mounting  the  steep  stairs.  Then  with  a 
gasp,  between  a  sob  and  ft  laugh,  she  murmured : 

"  Oh !  he  does  love  me !  " 
Taking  the  old  seaman's  telescope  from  the  bench, 
Jen  swept  the  road  until  it  rested  on  an  open  stretch 
beyond ;  and,  next  instant,  the  rapid  riding  soldier 
passed  before  the  glass.  As  he  did  so,  he  checked 
his  horse  suddenly,  bringing  him  down  to  a  walk  and 
seeming  to  speak  to  some  one  in  the  thick  bushes 
just  beyond  the  opening. 

For  just  there — and  as  suddenly  as  though  a  wood- 
gnome,  springing  out  of  the  earth — a  strange,  bent 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  149 

figure  of  a  man  parted  the  bushes  and  stood  stoop- 
ing on  his  staff.  Very  aged  and  bent  nearly  double, 
the  figure  had  been  tall,  if  walking  upright.  It  was 
draped  in  a  tattered  cloak  of  coarse  gray  stuff,  and 
the  long  locks  of  hair,  and  the  flowing  beard,  were 
snow  white,  but  strangely  coarse.  A  dirty,  faded 
green  shade  was  pulled  down  over  what  might  be 
sightless  eyes,  from  the  figure's  pose ;  but  the  quaver- 
ing, nasal  voice  that  comes  at  the  rider's  approach, 
suggests  that  he  is  seen,  from  the  words : 

"Mornin',  sol'jer!  Bad  wether  fur  leavin'  yer  gell, 
ben'tet?" 

"  Who  are  you !  And  what  the  devil  do  you  mean  ?  " 
Latham  queried,  as  he  checked  his  horse. 

"Seen  yer,"  the  man  answered  w4th  a  senile 
chuckle  and  feebly  nodding  his  head.  "Seen  yer 
m'sef,  by  th'  gate  yan." 

"By  the  gate!"  Latham  exclaimed.  "You  must 
have  devilish  good  eyes,  you  old  idiot ! ' '  The  gate  was 
fully  a  mile  away,  by  the  road;  and,  even  had  the 
cripple  crossed  country,  it  seemed  impossible  he  could 
have  come  so  far. 

" I  be  n't  speakin'  'fense,  be  I?"  the  old  man  qua- 
vered on.  "Hain't  I  knowed  Phil  Freeman's  gell 
sence  a-bornin'  ?  An'  I  sez  she  ar  the  nicest  gell  en 
fifteen  mile! " 

Mollified  by  this  praise,  even  from  such  a  source, 
Latham  replied  good  humoredly : 

"Well,  Belisarius,  you'll  find  many  people  to  agree 
with  you !  Here !  "  He  tossed  a  shin  plaster  note  at 
the  supposed  beggar,  who  clutched  it  eagerly,  but 
without  thanks,  as  he  answered : 


150  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST, 

"Menny  on  'em!  Menny  on  'em  ;  an'  erspeshul  th' 
yung  man  frum  Gadsden;  an'  th'  han'sum  Yankee 
cap'n.  She  hain't  never  mad'  no  differ  'twixt  'em — 
Johnnie,  nor  nuther." 

"Oh!  she  hasn't?"  Latham  checked  the  horse  he 
had  touched  with  the  spur,  curious  to  know  what 
the  old  man  meant,  yet  half  ashamed  of  his  question. 
"  But  who  are  these  men  you  talk  of?  " 

"I  hain't  countin'  'em,  be  I?"  the  man  answered. 
"Th'  Gadsden  boy  she  air  sweet  on  like,  dun  rid 
ter  th'  war,  but  she  year  from  un  reg'lar;  an'  th' 
Yank,  he  rides  'long,  'casshunal,  jess  fur  see'n  Jin 
Freeman." 

Latham  stared  at  the  speaker,  as  C^sar  at  the 
soothsayer.  But,  equall}^  disgusted  with  himself  and 
his  interlocutor,  he  made  no  reply,  as  the  other  driv- 
elled on : 

"An'  yer  be  n't  'tuk  'long  o'  her  y'  seff,  be  yer? 
'Cos  I  seen  yer  a  bitin'  her  han'  an'  a  kissin  ov — " 

"Shut  up!  You  cursed  old  liar!"  the  soldier 
roared,  turning  his  horse  and  digging  him  with  the 
spur,  as  though  to  ride  down  the  speaker.  But  the 
cripple  stood  motionless,  not  seeming  to  see  him; 
and  with  a  quick  change  of  hand — and  with 
thorough  disgust  on  his  face — he  turned  the  brute 
again  and  galloped  away  from  the  ugly  rencontre. 

Scarcely  had  the  sound  of  his  rapid  hoofs  died 
away,  when  the  old,  bent  form  stood  erect  and 
strong;  the  cloak  was  tossed  off  and  the  hair  and 
beard  removed  by  a  strong  hand,  revealing  the  fea- 
tures of  John  Holden.    Ugly  malice  and  hate  gleamed 


JOHN    HOLDEX,    UNIONIST.  151 

from  his  eyes,  as  he  raised  his  hand  after  the  flying 
man  and  growled  through  his  teeth : 

''Cursid  be  yer,  man-hunting  varmint!  Ef  I  be 
n't  able  ter  strike  yer  body  now,  'like  I  hev  'leff  yer 
soul  a-flamin'  like  hell-fire !  Ef  I  hev  lied  ter  yer,  th' 
Lord  lets  his  'n  lie  ter  ther  en'my's.  The  chil'n  ov 
Izrul  dercei\'i:  ther  hethin  an'  spiled  'em,  too !  I  dar' 
not  riz  ther  mounting  by  killin'  yer  now,  fur  thar's 
gret  wurk  fur  me  ter  do  this  day!  But  yer  life's 
mine!  An'  I  hev  ge'en  yer  wot'll  mek  it  bitter,  tell  I 
cum  fur  it,  ez  I  hev  ther  right  ter  come !  I  calls  down 
vengence  on  yer! " 

With  flaming  eyes  and  clenched  hand  raised  on 
high,  the  fanatic  towered  grim  and  fell  against  the 
dusk  background  of  closer  rolling  clouds  that  now 
began  to  pour  out  their  deluge  on  him.  But,  scarce 
noting  the  rain,  Holden  turned  back,  still  bareheaded 
and  muttering  to  himself;  ever  and  again  raising  his 
hand  in  imprecation,  as  though  to  direct  a  bolt  from 
the  dense  clouds  straight  on  the  head  of  his  foe. 

And  Jen  Freeman,  still  sweeping  the  opening  with 
her  glass,  ssiw  the  old  Unionist  pass  from  the  bush ; 
and  noted  his  strange  gesticulations.  Could  Latham 
have  seen  him  ?  she  thought.  How  strange,  if  he 
had,  that  nothing  had  happened  to  either;  how 
strange  that  Holden  should  have  chanced  on  the 
road  at  that  very  moment.  Could  he  be  v^atching 
the  officer  and  sprang  on  his  movements?  It  all 
seemed  so  strange  to  her;  but,  as  she  looked, 
stranger  still  it  grew.  For  Holden  stopped,  under 
the  storm,  and  resumed  his  disguise. 


152  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

Utterly  baffled — nervous  witli  undefined  dread  and 
worn  by  the  repression  of  tbe  past  week,  Jen  shivers 
as  she  lays  down  the  glass  and  slowly  descends  to 
her  own  room.  There — for  the  second  time  in  many 
a  long  month — she  again  locks  the  door,  throv^s  her- 
self upon  the  bed  and  buries  her  face  in  the  pillov^. 
But  this  time  overtaxed  nature  seeks  relief  in  that 
feminine  solace,  "a  good  cry." 


CHAPTER  XII. 
A  night's  surprises. 

Thoroughly  disgusted  at  the  senile  drivel  lie  had 
heard, — but  more  so  with  himself  for  having  even 
stopped  to  hear  it, — Latham  galloped  over  the  open 
roadway,  careless  of  the  storm  that  soon  drenched 
him.  But  swift  as  moved  his  fresh  steed,  swifter 
came  the  fast  crowding  thoughts  to  his  brain,  unbid- 
den, but  resistless.  He  had  just  faced  the  first  gfeat 
disappointment  of  his  sunny  life,  for  he  felt  he  loved 
this  woman  truly  and  tenderly.  In  after  years,  men 
may  laugh  at  such  early  sorrows;  but,  even  then,  the 
laugh  too  often  only  masks  the  truth  that  the  grief, 
at  its  time,  was  keen  and  real;  more  keen,  because  it 
had  to  be  borne  in  secret  and  without  the  balm  of 
sympathy.  For,  while  it  may  be  true  that  "all  the 
world  loves  a  lover,"  it  certainly  is  fact  that  all  the 
world  laughs  at  a  discarded  one. 

So,  while  Jen  Freeman's  woman's  nature  sobs  out 
its  sorroTv,  the  man  of  whom  she  thinks  races 
through  the  storm,  striving  to  button  tight  under 
his  jacket  memories  that  gnaw  like  the  teeth  of  the 
hidden  fox  of  Spartan  fable.    And,  not  recalling  their 

153 


154  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

aptness  at  the  moment,  lie  verifies  the  lines  of  the 
great  German: 

From  the  bounds  of  truth  careering, 
Man,  the  wild  one,  onward  sweeps; 
With  each  hasty  impulse,  veering 
Down  to  passion's  troubled  deeps! 

For,  spite  of  will  and  self-contempt,— spite  of  coerced 
dwelling  upon  her  gentleness,  her  truth,  her  frank 
and  tender  friendship,  so  well  proved, — the  man's 
mind  will  revert  to  doubts  and  bitter  queries. 
Those  nebulous  rivals,  named  by  his  strange  inter- 
viewer, rise  above  his  enforced  praises  of  her  worth ; 
and,  strive  as  he  will,  the  white-robed  form  he  saw" 
at  midnight  crossing  the  farm  yard,  comes  up  before 
him,  plain,  distinct  and  with  sinister  suggestion.  In 
his  fondness  for  twisting  quotations,  Beverly 
Latham  had  often  tried  to  tease  his  sister  with  the 
words — 

"Beware  of  jealousy! 
It  is  a  green-eyed  lobster  which  doth  eat 
The  meat  it  feeds  us  on ! " 

But  he  did  not  recall  them  in  his  present  mood,  nor 
would  he  have  confessed  that  now,  for  the  first  time 
in  his  life,  the  base  passion  really  possessed  him ;  that 
he  was  not  only  jealous — but  of  a  shadow,  barely 
hinted  at  by  his  mind's  eye.  For  inscrutable  is  that 
mechanism  put  in  us  by  the  great  Artificer;  so  tre- 
mendous, so  intricate — yet  so  delicate  as  to  jar  from 
its  centers  at  an  airy  touch ! 

And  one  part  of  the  intricate  human  machine  began 
to  correct  the  errors  of  the  other,  ere  the  long  ride 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  155 

was  done.  For  the  sufferer  had  breakfasted  lightly, 
and  the  rough  ride  and  thorough  drenching  began  to 
tell  upon  the  more  material  man,  distracting  his 
mind  somewhat  from  less  material  gnawings.  Nor 
need  it  seem  to  his  discredit  that  Lieutenant  Latham 
realized  that  he  was  hungry ;  for  that  lord  was  dis- 
sective  philosopher — if  not  great  poet — who  reminded 
us  that  civilized  man  might  live  without  books  or 
lady-love ;  but  that  to  him  cook  and  dinner  are  the 
very  staffs  of  life. 

So  the  sighing  young  lover  was,  measurably  at 
least,  consoled,  when  he  galloped  up  to  his  camp  and 
threw  his  rein  to  a  trooper.  For  the  corporal, 
expecting  his  much-missed  commander,  had  made  the 
shanty  as  comfortable  as  possible,  with  a  huge  fire, 
and  a  nosesome  odor  of  unusual  camp  luxury — fried 
bacon  and  eggs.  And,  dried,  dined  and  refreshed  by 
his  pet  pipe,  the  young  commander  lounged  comforL- 
ably  on  his  camp  stool ;  dreaming  dreams  perhaps, 
but  not  wholly  of  the  nightmare's  breeding. 

Into  these  post-prandial  musings  glided  the  philos- 
ophy— early  learned  of  men,  especially  in  wartime — 
that  women  do  not  always  know  their  own  minds ; 
and  that  Miss  Jen,  not  being  made  of  adamant  by 
any  means,  might  yet  be  made  to  melt.  As  for  the 
old  beggar,  he  was  doubtless  a  madman — certainly  a 
liar.  For  had  she  not  told  him — yes,  and  repeated 
again — that  there  was  nobody  else  ?  And  could  he 
doubt  her  plighted  words,  for  the  drivel  of  a  wayside 
tramp?  To  the  devil,  then,  with  the  young  man 
from  Gadsden,  who  wrote  regularly ;  and  as  for  a 
handsome  Yankee  captain,  Jen  w^as  too  loyal  a  little 


156  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

rebel — the  farmer  too  staunch  to  the  cause,  for  that ! 
What  about  the  white  figure  in  the  moonlight? 
Nothing !  Had  he  not  said  then  that  he  was  an  ass  ? 
And  now  he  w^as  a  bigger  one — and  a  tired  one  too — 
and — 

And  then  Lieutenant  Latham  slept  the  sleep  of  the 
the  clear  conscience  and  the  good  digestion,  in  spite 
of  the  sorrows  late  so  cumulative  and  so  heavy  upon 
him. 

Suddenly  he  sat  bolt  upright,  brought  back  from 
the  shores  of  Lethe  by  sound  of  rapid  hoofs,  quick 
challenge  and  hasty  reply.  Next  instant  the  corporal 
was  at  the  door,  saluting : 

"Leftenant,  news  from  the  front!"  Then  the  man 
went  on  to  say  that  the  river  pickets  had  noticed 
large  bodies  of  Federal  cavalry — supposed  to  be 
under  command  of  Colonel  Streight  and  numbering 
at  least  five  full  regiments — massing  on  the  north 
bank  of  the  Tennessee  river.  Refugees  from  the 
other  side,  the  report  concluded,  said  the  command 
was  a  heavy  one;  and  was  force-marched  for  the 
river. 

In  one  instant,  love,  doubts,  dreams  had  all  fled 
from  Latham's  brain;  leaving  only  ambition.  The 
longed-for  chance  had  come  to  him ;  the  enemy  was 
in  front  and  he  would  be  the  first  to  meet  him.  He 
was  no  longer  the  doubting  lover ;  only  the  confident 
soldier.  His  orders  were  given  promptly  and 
clearly : 

"Send  one  man,  on  a  fresh  horse,  to  carry  this  to 
Gadsden,  corporal.  Mount  and  inspect  the  men,  at 
once.     We  must  ride  hard  to  the  river !  " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  157 

Ten  minutes  later,  ammunition  served  out  and 
arms  inspected,  the  camp  was  deserted ;  and  Beverlj 
Latham  rode  at  the  head  of  his  squad,  through  the 
fast  closing  dusk,  straight  for  the  Tennessee,  ten 
miles  distant.  Nor  was  it  any  pleasure  jaunt,  that 
splashing  through  mud  and  plunging  across  gullies, 
under  a  driving  rain ;  but  the  horses  were  fresh,  the 
men  wearied  of  inactivity,  and  hailing  any  excite- 
ment after  long  idleness  in  camp;  and,  moreover, 
they  had  implicit  confidence  in  the  pluck  and  coolness 
of  their  young  commander.  So  the  squad  went  for- 
ward fast  and  cheerily ;  not  seldom  breaking  into 
song,  when  tired  of  chaff  and  jest. 

Riding  alone,  at  their  head,  Latham  let  his  fancy 
have  full  play,  conjuring  a  thousand  chances  for 
some  hit  that  might  win  him  a  name,  now  that  he 
would,  indeed,  have  first  chance  at  the  advancing 
foe.  And  any  thought  of  Jen  Freeman  that  now  ran 
through  his  brain  was  the  healthful  one  that  she 
should  find  her  refusal  had  left  him  no  milksop ;  that 
she  should  not  have  cause  to  blush  for  the  man  who 
had  offered  her  no  craven's  heart. 

Darkness  had  fallen,  when  the  muddy  riders  trotted 
down  the  heavily  wooded  slopes  leading  to  the  river 
bank.  The  squad  was  halted;  and  Latham  rode 
forward  with  the  corporal  to  question  the  picket, 
who  had  sent  in  the  glad  tidings.  He  repeated  his 
report  that  a  heavy  body  of  cavalry  was  massed, 
just  before  them,  across  the  river;  and  it  was  con- 
firmed by  the  long  line  of  camp  fires,  already  gleam- 
ing for  a  mile  or  more,  and  extending  some  distance 
inland. 


158  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

Moving  cautiously  alongthe  bank,  Latham's  quick 
soldierly  intuition  told  him  that  this  must  indeed  be 
the  long  expected  column  of  Colonel  Streight;  and 
his  estimate  placed  it  even  higher  in  numbers  than 
reported.  His  instinct  told  him  that  the  enemj^ 
expected  no  resistance,  and  v^ould  cross  at  leisure, 
either  that  night,  or  at  early  dawn;  believing  there 
w^as  no  force  in  their  front.  The  prevalence  of  camp 
fires,  indicating  cooking  and  bivouac,  told  him  that 
the  chances  were  all  in  favor  of  a  halt  for  the  night ; 
and  a  safe  and  leisurely  crossing  at  daylight.  But 
war  is  a  game  in  which  chances  must  not  be  taken 
which  skill  can  possibly  replace ;  so  Latham  quickly 
revolved  the  means  of  deceiving  the  enemy,  and  of 
delaying  him  until  news  of  his  movement  could  reach 
his  superiors  in  the  rear.  There  was  but  one  way, 
he  concluded,  but  that  w^as  worth  trying.  He  remem- 
bered Magruder's  ruse  to  delay  McClellan's  advance 
up  the  Peninsula,  the  year  before ;  and  his  plan  was 
formed  at  once. 

Along  the  southern  bank  he  found  large  quantities 
of  chopped  wood,  that  had  been  cut  by  the  fly- 
ing residents  but  not  hauled  away;  and  there  were 
huge  piles  of  dried  brush  and  refuse  from  it.  Putting 
his  nine  men  to  work  at  long  intervals,  and  aiding 
them  by  brain,  hand  and  ubiquitous  encouragement, 
he  needed  but  a  few  hours  to  perfect  his  plan.  The 
rain  had  stopped,  leaving  a  dull  steamy  mist  over  the 
stream,  which  permitted  his  work  to  remain 
unnoticed ;  and  through  it  the  camp  fires  opp  osite 
glowed  dim,  but  gigantic,  "making  the  night  a 
steam  of  fire." 


fOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  159 

Before  midniglit,  the  Confederates  had  built  some 
forty  fire  piles,  ready  for  lighting;  and  so  placed 
behind  screening  bushes  that  the  absence  of  moving 
forms  about  them  would  not  be  noticed  by  a  night 
glass,  from  across  the  river.  And  by  that  time  the 
opposite  camp  was  still;  its  fires  dying  down  rap- 
idly ;  the  sounds  of  movement  of  horse  and  man  less 
frequent;  and  plain  evidence  showing  that  no  move- 
ment was  projected  until  dawn.  Then  Latham  gave 
his  orders ;  and  soon,  up  and  down  the  southern 
bank  camp  fires  crackled  and  shot  up  blazing, — here, 
there — above,  below — rapidly  multiplying  as  though  a 
great  force  were  moving  down  to  camp  there,  ghost- 
like and  silent  as  the  phantom  host  at  Prague. 

And,  as  the  fires  began  to  burn* the  troopers  crept 
down  to  the  river's  edge,  beyond  the  glare  and  close 
in  under  the  bank.  They  were  stationed  fifty  yards 
apart;  each  man  with  full  instructions.  And,  almost 
immediately,  motion  began  in  the  opposing  camp. 
Horses  were  heard  galloping  to  and  fro;  then  the 
assembly  sounded,  cutting  the  night  clear  and  shrill, 
and  borne  to  the  gratified  ears  of  the  Confederate,  as 
taken  up  by  bugle  after  bugle.  It  was  plain  that  Col- 
onel Streight's  force  was  under  arms;  probably  drawn 
up  in  line  of  battle,  awaiting  attack  of  a  heavy  force 
supposed  to  be  in  front  of  him.  Then  came  the  rum- 
ble of  wheels ;  growing  clearer  and  mingled  with 
hoarse  command,  as  horse  artillery  galloped  down 
to  the  banks  and  unlimbered  to  command  the 
crossing. 

So  far,  his  ruse  had  succeeded  well,  and  Latham's 
hopes  were  high  that  he  might  yet  delay  the  crossing 


160  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

of  the  Federals  beyond  sunrise.  His  brain  was  at 
work,  wholly  intent  on  details  of  his  plan,  as  the 
corporal  passed  him  at  a  double  quick.  Barely  paus- 
ing, and  not  stopping  to  salute,  the  man  said,  with 
a  gleeful  chuckle : 

''Reckon  as  how  we  won't  'tack  'em  in  force, 
to-night,  leftenunt.  'Pears  they  sorter  outnumber 
us." 

But  the  officer  was  all  soldier  now,  and  in  no  mood 
for  jesting,  even  if  congratulatory.  He  ansTvered 
curtly : 

"  To  your  post,  sir !  I  will  do  the  reckoning  for 
you!" 

The  corporal  saluted  this  time;  falling  at  once  back 
into  his  long,  swinging  double-quick ;  but  chuckling 
good  naturedly  as  he  muttered,  this  time  strictly  to 
himself: 

"Darned  ef  he  ain't  got  his  boots  on,  sure!  He'll 
do — that  youngster  will!  " 

But,  intent  on  still  closer  calculation  of  the  enemy, 
the  officer  crept  further  along  the  bank ;  beyond  his 
extreme  post,  and  to  the  point  of  a  curve  that  jutted 
into  the  muddy  stream  and  narrowed  the  distance' 
across  it.  There,  moving  cautiously  along  the  slip- 
pery edge,  he  suddenly  stopped,  listening  intently. 
Surely  he  caught  a  scraping  sound,  and  soft  swish  of 
parted  brush,  as  though  something  were  dragged 
along  the  ground.  Listening  with  ears  acute  from 
habit,  and  sharpened  now  by  closer  peril— he  could 
hear  nothing.  For  seconds  he  stood  motionless  and 
eager ;  but  dead  silence  only  answered  his  quest,  con- 
vincing him  of  error.    Thinking  it  must  have  been  a 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  161 

cat  driven  from  his  lair  by  water,  or  some  other 
"  varmint "  roused  by  the  fire  and  creeping  to  it,  he 
lowered  his  ready  pistol  and  once  more  turned  to 
scan  the  opposite  bank.  So,  for  some  minutes,  when 
the  sound  again  reached  him,  and  unmistakably  this 
time. 

A  dull,  steamy  haze,  from  the  fires  behind,  lit  the 
point  into  half-twilight,  where  dark  objects  were  vis- 
ible ;  and,  as  he  parted  the  brush  and  stole  toward 
the  sounds,  Latham  again  brought  his  pistol  to  an 
aim,  ordering  sternly : 

"Halt!  Throw  up  your  hands!" 

A  crouching  figure,  bent  low  over  some  heavy 
object,  was  shoving  it  slowly  toward  the  stream; 
and,  as  he  peered  closer,  the  soldier  saw  it  was  a 
man,  tugging  at  a  skitf  just  at  the  water's  edge.  The 
figure  stood  still,  not  turning  toward  him,  nor  rising 
erect ;  but,  even  in  the  dim  light  he  felt  there  was 
something  familiar  in  the  pose,  which  was  confirmed 
by  the  quavering,  nasal  reph'  to  his  challenge : 

"Yer  wud  n't  a-kilt  er  po'  ole  man,  wud  yer?  I 
hez  n't  done  no  ^vrong,  hez  I  ?  " 

"You!  What  the  devil  brought  you?"  Latham 
cried,  astounded  at  recognizing  the  cripple  of  the 
morning's  rencontre  at  such  a  distance  from  it.  "  How 
did  you  get  here  ?  " 

"Ikem  'cross  kentry,  sol'jer,"  the  cripple  faltered, 
in  thin,  nasal  key.  "I  lives  cross  yan'  an'  I  ken't 
cross  'cep'n' b}^  hither.  Don'  yer  shoot,  sol'jer;  my 
darter  an'tw^osick  chiller  be  lyin'yan',  an' ther  Yanks 
"11  'vade  'em,  'cep'n'  I  gits."  And  with  the  words,  the 
old  man  tugged  at  the  skiff,   now  well  nosing  the 


162  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

water,  but  "with  more  strength  than  his  age  and 
frailty  seemed  to  justify. 

"Halt!  One  more  step  and  I'll  blow  your  brains 
out!"  the  youth  ordered  sternly.  "If  the  Yanks 
hang  every  covite  in  Tennessee,  no  man  shall  cross 
to-night!" 

"Yer  hain't  got  no  feelin',  hez  yer?"  whined  the 
other.  But  he  left  the  boat  and  crept  a  step  nearer  to 
the  soldier.  "Et  be  n't  no  wrong  fur  a  po'  ole  man 
ter  git  by  yan'  ter  pertec'  his  wimmin  folk,  be  et  ?  " 

"Halt,  where  you  are!"  Latham  again  ordered, 
the  meaning  of  his  words  underscored  by  the  click  of 
the  pistol  lock.  "I'll  take  care  of  you  'by  3^an,' 
where  w^e  can  talk  in  a  better  light.  One  movement, 
and  I'll  scatter  your  brains !  " 

Both  figures  stood  as  rigid  as  if  cast  in  iron ;  but 
the  lieutenant  put  his  left  hand  to  his  lips  and  gave  a 
shrill  signal  whistle.  Then  far  along  the  muddy  shore 
came  the  slump  of  heavy  boots,  as  the  corporal  ran 
to  reply,  the  sounds  drawing  closer  and  growing 
more  distinct  each  instant  until  just  behind  them. 

"This  way,  corporal!"  Latham  called  over  his 
shoulder,  half  turning  his  head,  to  give  the  order. 

The  movement  nearly  proved  fatal.  At  the  instant, 
the  bent  figure  reared  itself,  towering  close  above 
him ;  the  bra^vny  right  hand  raised  in  air,  and  clutch- 
ing a  deadly  knife.  With  a  spring,  "like  mountain 
cat  who  guards  her  young,"  the  knife  descended, 
aimed  straight  at  Latham's  heart.  But  even  in  that 
surprise,  coolness  and  agility  saved  the  young 
soldier.  Lightly  shifting  one  foot,  he  half  turned  his 
body,    avoiding   the    blade;    but    the    heavy    arm 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST,  163 

descended  on  his  wounded  shoulder  with  tremendous 
force,  that  staggered  him.  At  the  same  instant  the 
quick  right  hand  swung  the  heavy  pistol,  its  barrel 
striking  the  bony  wrist  of  his  assailant,  and  sending 
the  knife  whirling  harmless  from  the  paralyzed  hand. 

There  was  a  hoarse  yell  of  mingled  rage,  hate  and 
pain;  and  the  corporal,  racing  up,  found  his  officer 
still  reeling  under  the  blow,  but  all  alone. 

"After  him!  Quick!"  Latham  panted,  pointing  to 
the  sound  of  breaking  brush  beyond,  and  staggering 
toward  it,     "A  spy !     Kill  him  on  sight !  " 

Thorough  search  was  made  among  the  bushes  of 
the  point,  and  many  a  rod  inland  along  the  shore ;  but 
the  spy  had  disappeared  as  mysteriously  as  he  had 
appeared,  and  the  baffled  searchers  gave  up  the 
chase.  Returning,  they  floated  the  boat,  shoving  her 
well  out  into  the  current,  and  watching  her  bob  and 
whirl  into  it,  as  she  drifted  rapidly  away. 

"Curse  him!  He'll  not  'git  by  hither,'  all  the 
same!  "  Latham  said,  grimly.  "I  was  an  ass  to  be 
deceived.  I  should  have  shot  him  at  first.  But  he 
did  give  me  a  thundering  whack !  " 

He  stooped  among  the  trampled  brush,  seeming  to 
search  for  something;  then  added,  as  he  held  up  the 
knife : 

"  Well !  That  was  better  than  being  carved  by  this 
dull  affair,  all  the  same!  Maybe  Shelby  is  a  prophet, 
after  all,  and  I  may  get  my  troop,  if  I  hold  'em  off 
long  enough." 

And  as  the  two  peril-seasoned  men — rough,  hardy 
veteran  and  society-petted  young  aristocrat,  side  by 
side — trudged  back  to  the  outpost,  the  Virginian's 


164  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

hand  slipped  into  his  inside  pocket,  touching  the  tahs- 
man  locket  that  told  of  one  pure  love — the  ribbon 
knot  that  spoke  of  a  newer  one,  but  not  less  pure. 
And  his  heart  rose  in  thankfulness  to  the  great 
Guardian,  for  recently  averted  peril ;  and  not  less  for 
the  great  boon  of  the  love  of  such  pure  women, 
watching  for  him  ceaselessly.  And  then,  there  was 
little  doubt  mingling  with  the  thoughts  that  trav- 
eled swift  to  the  far-away  farm ;  querying  whether 
the  pure  innocence  he  loved  so  well,  felt  in  her  dreams 
that  his  loj^al  heart  was  full  of  her  at  that  dull  mid- 
night ! 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

A  RUSE  AND  ITS  RESULTS. 

Perfect  quiet  reigiied  in  the  camp  of  tlie  Federals 
on  the  north  bank  of  the  Tennessee,  broken  onh^  by 
the  neigh  of  a  restive  horse,  or  the  challenge  of  the 
changed  sentries — borne  dimly  across  on  the  night 
wind. 

Colonel  Streight  was  a  bold,  skillful  and  dashing 
commander ;  but  Latham  knew  him  to  possess  also 
the  prudence  and  sagacity  of  a  good  one.  So  he  felt 
that  his  ruse  had  done  good  service,  so  far.  For, 
plainly  expecting  no  attack  from  the  Confederates 
before  momins^,  the  enemy  was  evidentU'  sleeping  on 
his  arms,  in  read  ness  to  repulse  any  made  at  day- 
light, or-  failing  an  advance  upon  him — to  force  his 
passage  of  tne  river.  And,  calculating  all  this  rap- 
idly, the  young  Confederate  felt  that  his  opponent 
had  slept  long  enough,  and  determined  promptly  not 
to  let  him  fall  into  habits  of  sloth.  Passing  along 
his  scattered  line  of  pickets,  Latham  gave  careful  and 
plain  instructions  to  each  man,  it  being  now  scarcely 
an  hour  before  dawn.  Then,  having  replenished  the 
fires  with  light  brush,  the  little  force  remained  still 
and  silent. 

3  65 


166  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

Half  an  hour  later,  the  lieutenant  crept  down  to 
the  bank  again,  peering  eagerly  across  the  dim 
stream.  No  sight,  nor  sound,  rewarded  his  patience, 
in  that  "darkest  hour  before  the  dawn."  All  was 
still  and  calm  in  the  Federal  camp.  Then  he  raised 
his  pistol,  aimed  at  an  opposite  fire ;  and  his  signal 
shot  rang  out. 

Quickly  a  carbine  answered  it,  from  the  extreme 
right,  another  following  from  the  left,  a  third  near 
him,  until  nine  shots  had  echoed  through  the  woods. 
And  each  man,  after  firing,  started  up  the  bank,  at 
double-quick,  loading  as  he  ran.  At  fifty  paces  he 
halted,  fired  again,  and  raced  away  another  fifty; 
then  firing  and  coming  back  to  post  at  double  quick. 

What  effect  this  firing  had — in  one  way,  at  least — 
Latham  never  knew ;  for  the  distance  and  darkness 
were  great,  and  the  men  aimed  only  at  the  smoulder- 
ing fires.  But  its  main  effect  was  precisely  what  he 
hoped;  for  again  the  assembly  sounded  and  all 
was  bustle,  stir  and  movement  in  the  Federal  camp. 
Then  came  the  rushing  sound  of  moving  squadrons, 
hastening  to  the  river's  edge ;  and  that  suddenly  cut 
by  the  crack  of  light  artillery,  as  the  guns  vomited 
fire  into  the  night  and  sent  grape  shot  hurtling 
among  the  tree  tops,  and  dropping  branches  from 
them,  sometimes  near  the  racing  rebel  shooters. 
Then  a  sheeted  glare  blazed  out  far  on  the  Federal 
right;  taken  up  by  the  next  compan}^  and  running 
the  whole  length  of  the  line,  as  file-firing  began. 
Faster  flew  the  grape-shot,  now  in  better  range; 
closer  and  swifter  hissed  the  bullets,  thudding  with 
ugly  sound  against  bank,  or  trunk,  or  bough.    Then, 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  167 

from  the  center  of  his  position,  Latham  raced  along 
the  bank  in  one  direction,  the  corporal  in  the  other. 
Five  minutes  more — whether  known  to  the  enemy, 
under  the  roar  of  his  own  fire,  or  not — and  the  little 
squad  had  obeyed  the  order,  "Cease  firing";  had 
raced  up  the  bank,  throwing  fresh  brush  on  the  fires, 
as  they  passed ;  and  every  man  was  squatting  safely 
behind  a  tree,  wiping  his  carbine  carefully  and — 
waiting. 

"Pretty  lively  firing,  corporal,"  Latham  said 
cheerfully,  behind  his  tree.  "Our  opposite  neighbor 
is  having  a  pretty  hot  skirmish — all  to  himself. 
Hasn't  our  range  quite,  though." 

"Near  enough,  sir,"  the  non-com.  answered  to  the 
point. 

"Run  back  and  inspect  the  mounts,  corporal.  See 
if  any  of  them  are  restive.  It  wouldn't  do  to  have 
one  break  away,  from  this  noise.  We  must  be  ready 
to  cut,  when  he  crosses.  If  he's  the  soldier  I  think, 
he'll  force  the  river,  as  soon  after  day  as  he  is  con- 
vinced Vk^e  -will  not." 

The  corporal  only  saluted,  in  reply.  He  fully  agreed 
with  his  superior's  view ;  but  one  reproof  in  a  night 
was  enough  for  that  veteran,  and  he  would  "reckon" 
no  more.  Double-quicking  into  the  gloom,  he  was 
soon  out  of  sight  and  hearing ;  but  even  then  he  only 
relieved  his  mind,  by  grumbling  as  he  ran : 

"Yes;  he'll  do!" 
Gradually  the  Federal  fire  slackened,  the  small 
arms  silenced,  and  only  the  occasional  boom  of  the 
field  artillery  broke  the  silence,  as  the  gray  of  dawn 


168  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

crept  into  the  east  and,  gradually  tlie  daily  miracle 
was  repeated,  under  the  gentle  mandate : 

"Let  there  be  light!" 
From  his  lookout,  Latham's  field  glass  showed 
him  the  \vhole  Federal  force,  drawn  up  in  line  of 
battle.  In  good  position — commanding  the  crossing 
and  flanked  by  well-posted  batteries,  to  rake  the 
advancing  enemy  —  the  commander  awaited  the 
attack.  But  gradually  the  light  broadened ;  and 
the  sun,  rising  be\^ond  the  mountains,  looked  down 
bright  and  peaceful  upon  the  motionless  array,  gild- 
ing their  arms  and  laughing  back  in  ripples  of  fire 
from  movement  of  blade  and  barrel. 

But  still  no  movement  broke  the  quiet  of  the 
southern  bank;  and  after  a  half-hour  of  careful 
watching,  Latham  almost  danced  with  joy,  over  the 
gain  of  valuable  time.  For  he  well  knew  that,  in  a 
cavalry  raid  like  this,  every  moment  counts,  and  a 
halt  at  its  very  outset  has  almost  the  efi'ect  of  a 
repulse.  And  now  aides  and  couriers  dashed  along 
the  line,  and  plumed  commanders,  detaching  from 
its  ranks,  spurred  toward  an  elevated  plateau, 
whence  a  finely  mounted  officer  was  sweeping  the 
south  with  his  field  glass.  Closing  about  him  as 
they  saluted,  the  regimental  commanders  joined  in 
earnest  talk,  as  it  seemed  to  the  watchful  Confederate. 
Yes,  there  was  no  doubt  about  it :  Colonel  Streight 
was  holding  a  council-of-war. 

Then  the  officers  galloped  back;  movement  was 
seen  in  the  line  of  battle ;  the  artillery  quickened  its 
fire,  with  closer  range ;  and,  covered  by  it,  a  strong 
force  of  skirmishers   was  crossed,    Deploj^ed  along 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  169 

the  shore,  they  advanced  cautioush^  up  the  slight 
ascent,  reached  the  now  smouldering  decoy  fires, 
passed  them  unresisted,  and  entered  the  thicker 
^voods  be3'ond  the  rise.  Then,  to  right,  left  and 
front  of  them  began  a  scattering  but  rapid  fire,  long 
intervaled, — as  Latham's  men  repeated  their  trick  cf 
the  night  before, — and  doing  little  damage,  as  the 
shooters  ran  from  tree  to  tree.  But  the  fire  was 
promptly  returned  all  along  the  Federal  line;  the 
skirmishers  advanced  into  the  woods  still  more 
cautiously ;  and  Colonel  Streight  himself  crossed  the 
river,  for  closer  survey  of  this  obstruction  to  his 
well-laid  plans. 

By  this  time — for  the  sun  was  now  two  hours  high 
— the  Federal  column  should  have  been  well  on  its 
way  to  Gadsden,  galloping  gaily  to  success,  unresisted 
and  unexpected.  But  still,  the  Federal  had  been  no 
soldier  to  attempt  advance — even  though  the  firing 
had  now  ceased  on  the  enem3^'s  side — until  he  had 
brushed  aside  this  force  in  his  front.  So  he  brought 
over  his  whole  command,  artillery  and  all ;  arranged 
his  line  of  battle  on  the  crest,  and  deployed  a  heavy 
force  of  skirmishers.  But — somewhat  to  his  natural 
surprise,  not  one  shot  disputed  his  movement ;  even 
when  the  heavy  line  of  skirmishers  entered  the 
woods,  moving  slowly  and  firing  to  feel  their  way. 
And  very  impatiently  the  Federal  sat  his  horse,  at 
head  of  the  reserve;  marveling  if  the  enemy  could 
indeed  be  luring  him  into  an  ambuscade.  Another 
half  hour  of  surprise  and  impotent  fuming,  and  then 
a  courier  from  the  commander  of  the  skirmish  line 
galloped  up. 


170  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"Colonel!"  he  said,  saluting,  "Captain  White 
orders  me  to  report  that  he  can  find  no  enemy  in 
front  of  him !  " 

Nor  was  this  more  surprising  than  it  was  true ;  for 
at  that  instant  Beverly  Latham  was  racing  down 
the  Gadsden  roac\  at  the  head  of  his  jubilant  squad, 
six  good  miles  away  from  the  scene  of  his  successful 
ruse. 

But  as  the  racing  rebels  passed  through  a  rocky 
defile,  heavily  wooded  on  either  side,  a  movement 
showed  alongside  of  a  felled  tree ;  and  cautiously  the 
grim,  grizzled  head  of  John  Holden  reared  itself,  nod- 
ding with  the  movements  of  a  serpent's.  And  in  his 
red-green  eyes  blazed  a  light  deadly  and  venomous 
with  hate ;  potent  to  blast  its  object,  had  the  fable 
of  the  Python  been  reared  on  truth's  broad  basis. 

"Twic't!  Twic't  ye  hev  'scaped  me,  ye  murd'rer!" 
the  old  man  muttered,  rising  and  shaking  his  fist 
toward  the  flying  squad.  "Twic't!  an'  now  ter  hev 
no  gun!  Yer  time  hev  not  cum,  curse  onyer!  But 
it'll  cum,  ez  sur'  ez  Gawd  sits  thar!"  Again  he  lifted 
hand  and  face  on  high ;  and  his  lips  moved  rapidly 
and  his  eyes  literally  blazed  with  fanatical  hate: 
"He  hev  ge'en  yer  into  my  han',  fur  Hank's  blood!  I 
hev  swar  th'  yoath;  and  Gawd  hev  hear'd  it — sho  ez 
death!" 

Moodily  he  ceased ;  sitting  upon  the  log  and  peer- 
ing up  the  road  for  the  Federal  advance.  And,  at  its 
approach,  Holden  strode  into  the  roadway ;  halting 
and  facing  Captain  White. 

"Well,  you  are  a  fine  guide !"  that  officer  cried,  as  he 
recognized   the    Unionist   from  a    distance.     "Why 


JOHN    H OLDEN,   UNIONIST.  171 

were  you  missing  when  most  needed,  Holden?"  he 
added  sternh',  as  he  drew  rein,  nearer. 

"I  war  en  th'  hand  ov  ther  Lord!"  Holden 
answered  solemnly.  "Et  war  His  will,  ez  stopt  me 
frum  crossin',  ez  I  hed  ge'en  th'  wurd." 

"Well,  I  don't  know  about  you  and  the  Lord,  sir," 
the  trooper  returned  bluntly.  "But  you'll  have  the 
devil's  own  time  satisfying  the  colonel,  unless  his 
present  humor's  better  than  I  judge." 

"I  hevn't  axt  no  favors,  hev  I?"  the  mountaineer 
answered  boldly,  but  deliberately.  "  You'uns  hezn't 
buy'd  John  Holden,  hez  ye?  Wen  yer  pays  him  fur 
sarvis',  time  'nuff  ter  sass  him.  An'  wen  he  talks  ter 
Streight,  he'll  talk  no  differ,  nuther.  Wot  I  hez 
promis',  I  hez  dun,  I  'low;  an'  I  dun't  fur  ther  cause 
an'  ther  flag — an'  not  fur  no  man's  sa^an' — n'mo'n 
fur  his  gold!" 

"Give  him  a  mount,  sergeant!"  Captain  White 
ordered  shortly ;  adding  to  Holden:  "I've  no  time 
to  waste  on  hedge  preachers,  Mr.  Spy.  Mount  and 
await  the  colonel  here." 

He  trotted  forward  without  another  glance  at  the 
old  man,  standing  calm  and  grim  by  the  side  of  the 
strong,  spirited  and  well  groomed  black  the  trooper 
had  led  out  to  him. 

Now,  to  say  that  Colonel  Streight  was  angry, 
when  Captain  White's  courier  reported  no  enemy  in 
front,  fails  wholly  to  convey  that  frame  of  his  mind 
to  which  his  junior  alluded  to  John  Holden.  That 
the  atmosphere  around  him  was  not  literally  blue, 
for  several  seconds,  was  the  fault  of  natural  causes; 
none  Vk^hatever  of  his  own. 


172  JOHN    HOLDEN.   UNIONIST, 

But  this  Federal  was  not  the  man  to  waste  time 
upon  vain  regrets,  even  when  his  mortified  vanity 
held  before  his  self-esteem  the  taunt  that  he  had  been 
tricked  and  duped ;  and  by  no  ver^^  novel  process  at 
that. 

So,  forming  his  command  the  colonel  rode  away, 
rapidly,  as  though  to  escape  from  the  recent  unpleas- 
ant past,  and  eager  to  begin  that  raid  which  was  to 
become  so  memorable  from  the  daring  and  dash  of 
the  invaders,  and  the  skill  and  courage  of  those  who 
met  and  foiled  them. 

And,  by  the  time  the  column's  head  had  reached 
John  Holdcn's  stand  the  Federal  commander  had 
forgotten  his  wrath.  His  mind  was  busy  with  plan 
and  combination;  and  the  appearance  of  this  missing 
guide — or  sp\',  or  what  he  might  be  made — came  pat 
to  the  train  of  his  thought.  So,  he  merely  motioned 
Holden  to  his  side,  without  a  word ;  and  the  moun- 
taineer— gaining  the  saddle  with  agility  unsuited  to 
his  years — ^rode  in  alongside  the  colonel,  mute  and 
grave  as  himself  and  making  neither  salutation  nor 
salute. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

IN    SOUTHERN  WOMAN's    WAY. 

The  sun  has  risen  only  twice  since  Latham  scam- 
pered from  the  foe  he  had  fooled  at  the  crossing  of  the 
Tennessee;  but  the  day-god  has  looked,  meantime, 
on  busy  action  of  men.  Colonel  Streight  has  occu- 
pied Gadsden — to  his  credit,  be  it  said,  treating  the 
people  with  courtes}^  and  moderation ;  and  has 
crossed  into  Georgia,  moving  toward  Rome.  But 
now  he  retraces  his  steps,  for  he  learns  that  Forrest 
has  heard  of  his  raid,  and  is  force-marching  his  com- 
mand to  cut  him  off.  This  is  more  than  the  Federal 
bargained  for;  and,  brave  and  adventurous  as  he  is, 
he  has  no  great  desire  to  try  conclusions  with  "the 
Flail," — as  Forrest,  then  the  terror  of  the  Southwest, 
was  called, — especially  as  the  Confederate  force  ma}' 
be  larger  than  his  own. 

So  evening  of  the  second  da}'  found  Streight  in 
camp  near  Gadsden,  his  men  and  horses  worn  by 
forced  marches.  And,  far  nearer  than  he  knew,  his 
redoubtable  antagonist,  Forrest,  was  straining  every 
nerve  to  try  conclusions  with  him  in  the  morning. 
And  that  same  night  Latham's  little  squad  lay  in 
the  woods — not  far  from  the  Federal  command  and 
hanging  on  its  flanks,  but  unable  to  cut  through  it 

173 


174  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

and  join  Forrest.  And — though  no  scout  nor  courier 
could  reach  his  covert — the  youngster  had  contrived 
to  send  couriers  with  useful  information  to  the  col- 
umn he  felt  certain  was  in  pursuit.  This  had  reduced 
his  squad  to  five  men,  but  the  ardent  young  soldier 
was  in  high  good  humor,  spite  of  his  precarious 
position ;  and  now,  not  being  on  strict  duty  before 
the  enemy,  he  hobnobbed  easily  with  his  recently- 
suppressed  corporal  and,  lying  near  the  camp  fire,  he 
was  saying : 

"No,  corporal,  I  don't  doubt  we  can  join  the  gen- 
eral -and  share  the  glory  of  the  defeat  of  this  raiding 
party." 

"Darn  th'  glory,  sir!"  bluntly  answered  the 
veteran  non-com.  "/don't  expect  any  commish ; 
but  I'd  like  a  hand  in  lickin'  this  Yank,  jess  th'  same. 
This  'ere  glory's  all  hum,"  the  corporal  went  on. 
"When  I  come  to  'list,  my  whole  town  was  riz.  The 
big  law'r  made  us  his  biggest  speech,  an'  tole  us 
futur'  ages  were  lookin'  back  on  us.  The  newspaper 
printed  Latin,  'bout  it's  being  sweet  to  die  fo'  yer 
country.  But  that  verse  wasn't  to  my  likin',  so  I 
went  to  see  my  gall,  for  good-bye.  Hanged  ef  she 
didn't  pin  a  cockade  on  mean'  spout,  '  Go  wher' glory 
waits  thee! '  I  jess'  remarked  glory  could  %vait ;  an' 
I  didn't  like  th'  cockade,  for  mos'  every  fellow  thev 
was  pinned  to  vamoosed  when  time  come  to  go  to 
th' front!" 

"But  j^ou  came,  all  the  same,"  Latham  put  in. 

"Oh,  yes;  an'  they  presented  us  a  flag  an'  quoted 
poetry  by  the  bookful ;  an'  one  scrub  tole  us  to  come 
back  with  our  shields,  or  on  'em !      What  that  tune 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  175 

meant,  I  didn't  ask;  for  the  greenhorn  next  me 
brought  down  his  gun  on  my  pet  corn,  and  next 
thing,  we  were  marching  away  to  '  The  gall  I  left ' 
behin'  me ! '  Now,  here  I  am,  a  corporal,  and  no 
chance  o'  being  anj^thing  else.  But  the  big  lawyer 
got  an  exemption,  an'  the  scrub  that  talked  'bout 
our  shields  is  a  clerk  in  the  quartermaster's  office!" 

"Is  he?  "  Latham  laughed.    "Then  he's  all  right." 

"Is  he?  I  doubt  it,  smartly!"  the  corporal 
retorted,  biting  oiif  a  goodly  mouthful  of  "nigger- 
head  "  and  walking  away  from  the  fire.  "I  doubt  it ; 
for  he  married — mj^  gall !  " 

That  same  night  Jen  Freeman  w^as  restlessly  pacing 
the  broad  piazza  of  Dave  Hartley,  the  foremost 
merchant  of  Gadsden.  The  very  day  that  Latham 
left  her  home,  Jen  had  received  a  note  from  her  old 
friend  and  schoolmate,  Sis  Hartlc}-,  urging  her  to 
come  for  a  short  visit.  And  Farmer  Freeman — ever 
unselfish  where  his  girl  was  concerned — had  urged  her 
to  accept  and  to  recuperate,  after  the  strain  and  care 
of  nursing  their  wounded  guest.  So  she  had  been 
driven  over  by  Master  Willie;  and,  only  after  his 
return,  had  come  the  news  of  the  Federals'  advance, 
soon  followed  by  their  appearance  in  the  town. 

Naturally  the  girl  had  thought  much  of  her  conva- 
lescent— "friend";  but  she  was  too  proud  to  ask. 
Now, — the  homely  supper  over  and  Sis  busy  with 
household  cares, — Mr.  Hartley  had  ridden  away  to 
get  the  latest  news  of  the  Federal  column,  and  of  the 
possible  truth  of  rumors  that  Forrest  v^ould  over- 
take it  next  morning.  So  Jen — left  to  her  thoughts, 
and  not  finding  them  too  pleasant — was  pacing  the 


176  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

piazza  and  peering  vainly  for  some  star  in  the  cloudy 
canopy  above  her.  Suddenly  the  girl  stopped,  cer- 
tain that  she  heard  her  own  name  spoken.  Then,  in 
the  dead  stillness  of  the  sultry  evening,  she  distinctly 
heard  the  repetition : 

"  Miss  Freem'n !  Miss  Jen !  " 
The  girl  had  lived  too  long  in  an  atmosphere 
charged  with  real  danger  to  be  frightened  by  a 
shadow ;  so  she  was  little  startled  by  the  appearance 
of  a  white,  vaguely  defined  form,  just  bej^ond  the 
gallery.  Moving  rapidly  toward  it,  she  found  the 
form  w^asthatof  a  woman,  and  that  it  made  motions 
to  ^^r&Yn  her  to  silence.  Then  the  w^oman  spoke,  in  a 
hoarse  whisper. 

"Miss  Jen,"  she  said  rapidly,  "I  hez  cum'  thro' 
dark  an'  nite',  ter  warn  yer  'bout  yer  young  man!  " 

To  this  abrupt  preface,  Jen  was  conscious  that  she 
replied  only  by  a  vivid  blush,  unseen  in  the  darkness, 
as  the  woman  went  on : 

"An'  yer  hez  ther  rite  ter  be  warnt,  fur  E'm  Lize 
Holden,  yer  war  good  ter,  wen  my  man  w^ar  kilt! 
But  paw,  he  ar'  jess  plum  sot  agin  yer  young  man, 
'long  ov  his  yoath  ter  hev  blood !  Paw  hev  fix't  ter 
lead  them  blue-coat  critters  ter  night  jess  w'ere  yer 
young  man  be  lying  hit  in  th'  woods,  a-shootin'  at 
th'  blue-coat  critter  cump'ny.  An'  I' jess  'low'd,  Miss 
Jen,  ez  j^er  shud  be  warnt." 

"Are  you  sure?"  Jen  asked,  her  breath  coming 
quick  and  gasping. 

"I  don'  look  a-foolin',  does  I?"  the  w^oman 
retorted.     "I  hev'  heer'd  paw  swar  'ter  the  cap'n  ov 


TAKING  THE  BRIDLE  HIMSELF,  HE  STRODE  CAREFULLY 
AWAY.— Page  184. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  177 

ther  critter  cump'ny  thet  he'd  show'm  th'  Johnnie 
wot  fooled  'em  at  ther  crossin' !  " 

Jen  reaHzed  nothing  of  what  this  meant ;  her  lover's 
prowess  being  all  unknown  to  her.  But  she  did 
realize  that  this  lover's  safety  hung  in  the  balance, 
and  she  asked,  quickly : 

*'  Do  you  know  where  Mr.  Latham  is  to-night  ?  ' 

"Yer  don'  think  I  hev  trudged  ter  yer  house  an' 
then  'long  ter  Gadsding  'thout  knowin',  does  yer?" 
Mrs.  H olden  answered  promptly.  "Ther  Johnnies  be 
a  lyin'  three  mile  by  yan;  an'  paw's  a-goin'  ter  show 
ther  blue-coats  whar,  jess  at  twelve  ter  night !  " 

"What  will  happen !  "  Jen  exclaimed,  more  to  her- 
self than  to  her  interlocuter.  But  the  latter  responded 
drearily : 

"Hangin',  sholy!  I  heered  paw  'low  ter  thercap'n, 
ez  yer  young  man  an'  hisn  war  spies,  inside  ther  lines ; 
and  ther'  blue-coat,  he  'lowed  ez  he  hed  plenty  rope 
fur  stretchin'  ov  spies'  necks,  he  did !  " 

Then,  as  by  a  flash  of  God's  lightning,  Jen  Free- 
man's heart  was  revealed  to  her.  All  its  resistance 
to  pleading,  to  absence  and  to  ordinary  danger, 
yielded  before  this  threatened  disgraceful  ending  ol 
a  bright  career,  plotted  b^^  hate  she  could  not  com- 
prehend. But,  then  and  there,  the  girl  knew  that 
her  heart  had  gone  out  to  the  young  soldier  past 
recall;  and  that,  with  her  heart,  her  life  was  his  for 
any  service  it  might  render.  But  nothing  mawkish 
weakened  the  truth  of  Jen's  confession  to  herself;  but, 
rather,  she  gloried  in  her  new  found  wealth  of  love ; 
and  felt  it  strengthen  her  for  prompt  and  active  use- 
fulness.   Glancing  through  the  window,  she  saw  the 

12 


178  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

clock  pointing  close  to  ten ;  and,  quickly  deciding  her 
plan,  she  asked  the  woman : 

'*  Why  did  you  not  warn  him,  instead  of  coming  so. 
far  to  speak  to  me  ?  " 

"Cos,  arter  ther  shootin'  et  ther  dance,"  Lize 
answered  prompth^  "paw  hev  made  me  swar  ei 
yoath  never  ter  speak  ter  him  agin.  He'd  a  kilt 
me  if  I  hadn't  a  sware  ;  an'  I  ken't  brek  my  yoath, 
ken  I?" 

"Can  you  lead  me  to  his  camp?"  Jen  asked,  no 
longer  hesitating. 

"  Y'er  hev  n't  er  critter,  hev  ye?"    Lize  answered. 

"Yes;  come  with  me,"  Jen  said,  and,  stepping  from 
the  low  piazza,  she  passed  swiftl^^  to  the  stables. 
One  mule,  old  and  vicious,  stood  alone  by  the  door. 
The  stalls  were  empt}',  the  men  and  Mr.  Hartley 
having  ridden  off  on  everv  mount  available  to  learn 
news  of  the  raiders.  Jen  leaned  against  the  stable 
door  one  instant,  pressing  her  hand  to  her  fast  throb- 
bing heart.  But  the  unwonted  dizziness  soon 
passed  away,  and  she  said  to  the  woman : 

"  Come,  show  me  the  way !  We  can  walk !  " 
Without  one  word,  Lize  Holden  drew  the  faded 
shawl — which  seemed  part  of  her — closer  over  her 
head,  and  struck  out  in  a  long  swinging  gate  for  the 
side  fence.  And  long  afterwards  Jen  remembered  her 
glance  into  the  kitchen  window,  that  showed  Sis 
Hartley's  buxom  arms,  dough  to  the  elbow,  as  she 
hastened  her  maid  of  all  work : 

"Hurry  up,  stupid !  I've  left  Miss  Jen  long  enough 
alone.  She'll  be  skipping  with  some  raider,  next 
thing!" 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  179 

But,  at  the  moment,  Jen's  thoughts  centered  to  but 
one  point — the  safet\'  of  the  man  who  loved  her — 
whom  she  had  discarded,  in  her  pride  and  folly; 
w^hom — as  she  now  knew,  she  loved  \vith  all  the 
strength  of  her  fresh,  pure  soul  1 

"Go  on,  fast  as  you  can  I"  she  whispered  to  Lize 
Holden,  as  she  passed  the  window's  gleam.  "Get 
there  before  them,  and  ask  an^-thing  you  wish  of 
me!" 

"I  hain't  arx'tnuthin',hezl?  "  the  woman  retorted 
doggedly,  clambering  over  the  lence.  "Kin  yer 
tramp?  " 

"Yes, go  on!"  Jen  urged.  "  Go  fast  as  you  can !  " 
Dull  drops  of  rain  began  to  fall  occasionalh",  and 
the  summer  night  grew  more  sultry,  under  low- 
hanging  clouds.  But  Jen  Freeman  drew  the  light 
scarf  she  chanced  to  wear  closely  about  her  head,  and 
— unmindful  alike  of  rain  and  heat — followed  her 
strange  guide  along  that  strange  road,  through 
unknown  woods  and  across  ravine  and  rivulet  alike. 
And  once  she  thought  she  heard  a  wdld,  wondering 
woman's  voice  echo  through  the  woods.  But  she 
pressed  on  after  her  hurrying  guide,  never  recking  that 
Sis  Hartley — after  search  of  house  and  grounds — was 
hanging  over  her  gate,  alone,  crying  in  alarmed 
anxiety : 

"Jen !  Jen  Freeman !  Where  are  tou  ?  " 
So,  over  the  rough  road  the  two  women  tramped, 
for  what  might  have  been  an  hour.  They  were  in 
dense  woods  now,  dark  and  silent;  the  rain  falling 
fitfully  and  the  air  sultry  and  close.  A  narrow  path, 
that  might  have  been  a  cattle  trail  once,  and  only 


180  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

distinguishable  at  night  to  a  born  mountaineer,  led 
up  a  rough  steep.  Midway  on  this  Lize  Holden 
stopped  abruptly. 

"  Turn  rite  inter  them  bushes,"  she  whispered,  "an' 
go  'long  rite  erhead!  Yer'd  better  holler,  ef  tha' 
hails  yer,  less'n  tha'  shoots.  Yer  yung  man's 
a-lyin'  hit  right  in  'yan." 

"Are  you  going  to  leave  me?"  Jen  asked,  with  a 
little  shiver." 

"Imus'  do't.  Miss  Jen,"  the  widow  answered, 
solemnlv.  "Yer  young  man  'ud  speak  ter  me,  an'  I 
hez  sware  my  yoath  b'  Hank's  grave!  Yer  ben't 
a-dangerin'  now ;  only  j^er  mus'  holler  ef  tha'  hails 
yer,  yan ! ' ' 

She  paused  a  moment,  hesitant;  then  added,  rap- 
idly: 

"Yer  ben't  skeart,  be  ver  ?  Yer  hain't  needin'  ter  be. 
Gawd's  a-lookin'  down  on  yer,  Miss!  " 

She  seized  Jen's  hands  suddenly  in  both  of  her  own, 
pressed  her  thin  lips  upon  them  fervently;  then 
glided  away,  sprite-like,  into  the  gloom. 

Left  alone  under  that  thick  darkness  and  soft  fall- 
ing rain,  the  girl  could  hear  her  own  heartbeats 
drumming  in  her  ears.  But  she  was  not  made  of 
that  stuff  which  gives  way  with  duty  unfulfilled ;  so, 
parting  the  bushes,  Jen  turned  to  the  right  and 
groped  her  way  ahead.  Suddenly  came  a  gruff  voice, 
accompanied  by  rattle  of  a  carbine  and  click  of  its 
lock,  in  the  words : 

"  Halt !     Who  goes  there  ? ' ' 

"A  friend!"  Jen  answered,  bravely.  "I  want  Mr. 
Latham." 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  181 

Latham  had  chosen  as  his  hiding  a  Httle  pocket  in 
the  dense  woods,  beyond  the  narrow  trail ;  the  path 
to  it  almost  overgrown  from  disuse,  and  its  rear  on 
the  very  edge  of  a  ravine.  Here  he  was  sleeping 
soundly,  under  his  stretched  waterproof,  when  the 
corporal  touched  his  shoulder.  Sitting  bolt  upright, 
he  was  wade  awake  in  an  instant,  pistol  in  hand; 
and  the  next  was  creeping  softh^  with  the  man 
tow^ard  the  low  challenge  of  the  picket.  The  sounds 
were  plain  of  some  one's  approach ;  snapping  twig 
and  swash  of  leaf  coming  nearer.  Latham's  cocked 
pistol  and  the  corporal's  carbine  went  out  to  cover 
the  sound,  the  officer  w^hispering: 

"There  is  only  one,  and  he  moves  very  carelessly!" 

"It  ain't  a  he,"  the  veteran  whispered  back. 
"  Them's  wimmin's  feet,  ef  I  ever  heard  'em  in  my 
life!" 

Before  Latham  could  speak,  a  dim  form  became 
half  visible  in  the  opening,  faltering,  then  halting  and 
calling  piteously : 

" Mr.  Latham !     Oh,  Mr.  Latham !" 
The  corporal  scratched  his  head  vigorously,  made 
a  swift  right-about  and  strode  to  the  rear.     His  offi- 
cer's voice — quivering  wdth  amazement  and  doubt 
replied : 

' '  Who  calls  me  ?    I  am  here ! ' ' 

"Oh!  Thank  heaven,  I  have  found  you,  at  last!" 
Jen  cried,  rushing  forward.  And  then — woman's 
weakness  asserting  itself,  when  heroism  w^as  not 
longer  imperative — the  girl  broke  into  gasping  sobs, 
trembling  in  every  limb. 


182  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"  You,  Jen !  Alone  and  in  such  a  night !  Do  n't  be 
frightened!  Tell  me  what  this  means!"  the  lover 
cried  in  -wonderment  profound.  But  his  amazement 
did  not  prevent  his  strong  arm  passing  about  the 
quivering  form,  supporting  it  tenderly. 

"I  am  not  frightened,"  the  girl  answered,  quickly 
controlling  herself.  But  she  withdrev^  gently  from 
the  supporting  arm,  as  she  added  rapidly:  "But  you 
are  in  great  danger.  At  this  very  moment  Yankee 
cavalry  is  on  the  way  to  surprise  and  capture  you, 
guided  by  your  old  enemy,  Holden." 

"Let  them  come,"  Latham  answered,  quietly. 
"Now  that  we  are  warned,  we  are  safe  here." 

"You  are  not  safe,"  the  girl  replied.  "They  are 
too  many,  and  they  know  your  hiding  place.  His 
daughter,  Lize,  warned  me  and  guided  me  here." 

"You  are  right,"  Latham  answered.  "Good  sol- 
diery tells  us  to  run  when  fighting  is  useless,  and  heels 
have  it.  Corporal !"  He  turned  to  the  waiting  sol- 
dier, gave  rapid  orders,  and  then  advanced  to  the 
girl  again,  throwing  his  waterproof  tenderly  over 
her  wet  and  still  shivering  form.  But,  even  in  face  of 
imminent  peril — now  providing  for  by  his  soldier 
instinct — the  thought  uppermost  in  Latham's  brain 
was  what  real  feeling  had  impelled  that  delicate, 
womanW  nature  to  risk  the  solitude  and  darkness  of 
that  lonesome  way,  to  warn  him  of  his  danger. 

"I  can  never,  in  a  whole  lifetime,  express  my  grati- 
tude and  deep  feeling  of  jo\',"  he  said,  gravely,  "that 
you  have  taken  such  a  risk  for  me  I" 

"The  chief  risk  was  of  taking  cold,"  the  girl 
answered  quietly.     "But  you  must  not  waste  time; 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  183 

there  is  none  to  spare.     Hasten  to  get  away  from 
here!" 

"And  leave  you?"  the  man  cried,  suddenly.  "I 
must  see  you  in  safety  first,  then  give  them  the  slip 
afterward." 

"Impossible!"  she  answered,  decisively.  "You 
cannot!  They  are  coming  from  Gadsden.  Never 
mind  me,  Mr.  Latham.  I  can  get  back  some  way." 
But,  in  vSpite  of  her  brave  words,  Jen  Freeman's  heart  ° 
sunk  and  her  voice  trembled  at  the  idea  of  being  left 
wholly  alone  at  such  a  place  and  hour.  But,  loyal  to 
her  self-appointed  mission  to  save,  she  added :  "See ; 
they  are  ready ;  do  not  lose  an  instant !" 

As  she  spoke,  gloomy  shadows  of  men,  leading 
their  horses  carefully,  passed  across  the  open  space, 
disappearing  down  the  deep  descent  to  the  ravine 
behind  it,  and  traced  by  slipping  footfall  and  rolling 
of  displaced  stones. 

"If  they  come  from  Gadsden,  you  cannot  return 
that  v^ay,"  Latham  answered  decisively.  "I  owe 
you  my  life,  doubtless,  Miss  Jen,  for  I  would  not  be 
taken  prisoner  here  and  now.  The  least  I  can  do  is 
to  protect  you  from  them.  I  can  make  a  detour  and 
leave  you  at  home,  as  I  join  Forrest." 

"You  have  no  extra  horse,"  she  hesitated.  "One 
more  would  hamper  you  only  the  more.  Go !  Please 
go ;  and  I  wall  get  back — safely  !  " 

"You  cannot,"he  answered, half  impatientW;  "and 
you  certainly  shall  not  attempt  it.  You  are  in  my 
command  now;  and,  at  such  a  moment,  my  expe- 
rience must  outweigh  your  scruples.     As  for  a  horse, 


184  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

you  shall  have  one  as  soon  as  day  breaks.  Come, 
they  are  ready.     Surely  you  can  trust  nie,^en  ?" 

As  he  spoke,  the  picket  from  the  road  be^^ond 
moved  noiselessly,  but  swiftly,  toward  them. 

"Hoofs  sounding  on  the  road  below,  leftenant," 
the  man  said,  rapidly.  "Seem  a  full  troop,  sir,  tho' 
I  can't  hear  plain  from  the  distance." 

"How  far  off,  Bronson,"  the  officer  queried. 

"Not  over  half  a  mile,  I  judge,  sir." 

"Fall  in,"  was  the  curt  rejoinder.  " The  corporal 
has  your  horse  in  the  ravine.  You  see,  you  must 
come  now,"  Latham  added,  turning  to  Jen,  and 
again  holding  out  his  hand.  "Will  you  not  trust 
me?" 

For  sole  reply  she  put  her  hand  in  his,  firmly  and 
confidently.  Next  instant,  he  was  leading  her  care- 
fully down  the  rugged  and  abrupt  descent  to  what 
had  been  a  winter  torrent's  bed,  now  dry  and  rough 
with  loose,  pebbly  sand.  There,  Latham  rapidly 
wound  a  twisted  blanket  about  his  pommel,  lifted 
the  girl  to  the  seat,  with  but  a  word  of  explanation ; 
and,  taking  the  bridle  himself,  strode  out  carefully 
over  the  insecure  footing.  The  men,  leading  their 
horses,  followed  in  single  file,  a  phantom  troop,  in 
seeming,  as  they  toiled  silent  along  their  strange 
way,  in  deep  darkness ;  emerging  into  a  broader  and 
more  level  plateau,  only  after  two  hours  of  weari- 
some tram  23. 

Nor  had  the  squad  been  premature  in  its  escape 
from  the  confint  captdeors.  They  were  not  half 
w-ay  through  the  ravine  —  though  shut  out  from 
sight  and  sound  by  its  abrupt  sides — when  a  squad- 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  185 

ron  of  cavalry  moved  quietly  up  the  road  beyond 
the  pocket,  deployed  into  wide  skirmish  line  and 
circled  into  the  woods,  to  surround  and  cut  off  the 
prize  considered  certain. 

Captain  White  led  the  column ;  and  by  his  side  rode 
John  Holden,  silent,  watchful  and  implacable  for 
vengeance.  For  he  had  lied  to  the  Federal  about  the 
escapades  and  duty  of  the  young  rebel ;  describing 
his  squad  as  bushwhackers  and  spies,  belonging  to 
no  command  and  fighting  only  for  plunder  and  for 
payment  for  news  of  the  Union  movements. 

"You  are  positive  of  the  place?"  Captain  White 
asked,  as  he  piished  into  the  thick  cover. 

"I  ben't  a  fool,  be  I?"  Holden  answered  grimly, 
dismounting  from  his  fine  black  steed.  "Follerme, 
an'  we  hez  'em  sho'  I  I  hain't  brung  yer  fur  fun,  hez 
I?     Them  'wackers  '11  sholy  hang,  by  sun!  " 

WariW,  cautiously  the  two  men  pressed  on  through 
bush  and  brier,  reaching  the  open  pocket  to  find  it 
deserted,  and  soon  joined  by  the  closed-in,  but  empty- 
handed  skirmishers. 

"No  captures, lieutenant?  "  White  grimh'  asked  his 
sub,  as  the  right  party  closed  in  on  what  had  been 
the  camp.  "The  devil!  None  on  your  side,  Mr. 
Baldwin?  Holden,  what  does  this  mean?"  he 
added,  angriW.  "Is  this  the  way  you  make  up  your 
broken  promise  at  the  river?  " 

"I  hain't  'splainin',  is  I?"  the  mountaineer 
answered,  in  voice  trembling  with  baffled  hate. 
"John  Holden  'lowed  ez  how  he  hed  spotted  'em,  rite 
in  yere.  Ther  devil  hi'self  cud  n't  a-flew  out,  'cep'n 
we'  ims  'ud  a  seen  'im !    I  'low  I  do  be  plum  beat !  " 


186  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

Seizing  a  lantern  from  a  sergeant,  Captain  White 
moved  slowW  along  the  open,  throwing  the  light 
before  him.  Then  he  beckoned  his  lieutenant,  pointing, 
to  the  wet  ground. 

"  Hoof  prints — fresh,  too,"  he  said  low.  "There! 
that  grass  is  dry;  beaten  down.  It  has  been  pressed 
by  a  blanket," — he  stooped  and  felt  the  spot, — "and 
not  ver\^  long  ago !  The  old  fellow  was  not  Ij'ing ; 
but  the  covey  has  flushed.  He  must  be  a  devilish 
good  soldier,  anyhow !  "  the  Federal  went  on  frankly. 
"  If  he  can  slip  us  like  this,  when  not  expected,  no  use 
to  hunt  him — warned  and  ready — in  this  darkness. 
Sound  the  recall,  sir!  " 

Swinging  his  lantern  high  over  the  underbrush,  the 
captain  turned  into  the  woods  toward  the  horse- 
holders  without.  Suddenly  he  stopped,  peered 
curiously  at  a  branch  before  him,  and  then  took 
carefully  from  it  a  drenched,  but  delicate  knot  of  blue 
ribbon.  A  moment  he  stood,  examining  the  trophy ; 
then  he  gave  a  low  laugh,  that  ended  in  a  whistle  of 
humorous  amaze.  But  he  put  the  ribbon  in  his- 
pocket,  without  a  \vord,  mounted  his  horse  and 
slowly  rode  down  the  road  he  had  come.  Suddenl}-^ 
he  turned  to  Holden,  riding  on  his  left  grim  and  silent 
as  a  male  Sphinx,  and  asked  abruptly : 

"Has  this  bushwhacker  a  sweetheart  about  here?  "■ 

"I  hain't  a-pesterin  'bout  gells,  be  I?  "  the  old  man 
answered,  grimly.  "But  I  'low  he  do  be  plum  sweet 
on  Freeman's  darter." 

"Where  does  she  live?  "  the  captain  asked. 

"  Twenty  mile  'yan ;  but  she's  a-bidin'  now  'long  er 
Sis  Hartley,  in  Gadsding,"  Holden  answered.      "But 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  187 

wot  'bout  her?  She  hain't  no  nolledge  war  her 
voung-  man  be  ter  night.  She  hain't  seen  'im  sence  he 
fool't  yer  at  th'  Tenn'see!  " 

"No,  I  suppose  not,"  White  rephed.  "Show  me 
Hartley's  house,  as  we  pass  through  Gadsden." 

"Iben't  'dvisin',  be  I?"  Holden  said,  dehberately 
and  grimly.  "But  he  ar'  a  pizen  bad  rebel — same  ez 
Freeman.    Burnin'  udn't  be  too  good — " 

"Shut  your  mouth,  you  old  reprobate!"  The 
Union  soldier  turned  on  the  Union  S3rmpathizer  in 
wrathful  scorn.  "How  dare  you  hint  that  to  me, 
sir !  Do  you  suppose  I  entered  the  army  to  become 
an  incendiarj'?  " 

There  was  no  reply  to  make,  so  Holden  made  none; 
and  the  part}',  entering  broader  road,  as  the  day 
broke,  took  the  way  to  Gadsden  at  a  brisk  trot.  For 
the  trained  ear  of  the  Union  soldier  caught  a  sound 
that  thrilled  him.  Either  as  a  signal  gun,  or  as 
prelude  to  a  fight,  a  cannon  boomed  clear  but 
distant. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

THE   CAPTURED   WAR   HORSE. 

Trotting  rapidly  through  the  sandy  main  street 
of  the  town,  the  Federal  cavalry  found  the  Gads- 
denites  awake  and  active,  early  as  was  the  hour. 
They  peeped  from  window,  or  porch,  and  hung  over 
gates  on  every  side,  peering  cautiously  and  curiously 
at  the  blue  coats,  but  asking  no  question.  At  the 
Hartley  place,  the  daughter  of  the  house  hung  over 
the  gate,  wide-eyed  and  eager  for  news.  Her  natural 
anxiety  at  cannon-firing,  with  the  Federals  in  sight, 
was  heightened  by  the  strange  absence  of  her  friend ; 
for  no  reply  had  come  to  her  wondering  calls  of  the 
previous  night,  and  no  solution  of  Jen's  sudden  dis- 
appearance offered  itself  to  her  simple  mind. 

So  Sis  Hartley  was  more  curious  than  alarmed,  as 
the  troop  trotted  down  the  street  and  halted  in 
front  of  her ;  for  Holden — now  with  his  long  cloak 
and  white  beard  and  Avig,  used  to  conceal  his  move- 
ments irom  his  simple  neighbors — had  said  briefly  to 
the  captain : 

"Hartley's;  whar  his  gell  'bides!" 
Short  time  as  the  cannon  shot  leaves  him.  Cap- 
tain White  rides  from  the  front,  lifting  his  cap  to  the 
girl  as  he  says,  courteously :    , 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  189 

"You  are  no  stranger  to  me,  by  name,  Miss 
Hartley,  'though  I  am  to  you ;  so  I  ask  the  courtesy 
of  a  drink  of  water. " 

"You're  welcome,  sir,"  Sis  Hartley  answers,  with 
a  little  tremor;  but  she  never  dismounts  from  the 
gate,  nor  lifts  the  latch,  for  the  enemy.  She  only 
calls:  "Here,  Sal!  A  bucket  an' dipper,  quick  as 
you  can!" 

The  Union  soldier  smiled  quietly,  under  his  mus- 
tache, at  the  implied  snub;  but  he  threw  himself 
j^om  saddle  and  approached  the  gate,  followed  by 
the  keen,  but  wondering  glance  of  John  Holden. 
Then  in  a  low  voice,  he  said  : 

"You  are  alone,  Miss  Hartley.  Where  is  your 
guest,  Miss  Freeman?" 

Sis  Hartley's  big  blue  eyes  opened  wider  at  this 
unexpected  query,  and  the  wonder  in  them  was 
emphasized  by  that  in  the  tone  which  cried :  "Lor! 
How  did  you  know  ?  Have  you  any  idea  where  she 
went  last  night—"  But,  suddenly  recollecting  her- 
self, and  to  w^hom  she  spoke,  the  girl  broke  oft 
quickly,  finishing  with  a  frigid:  "Here's  the  water, 
sir!     Good-morning." 

•  She  turned  abruptU',  as  if  to  walk  away;  but  the 
trooper  put  quick  hand  into  his  coat,  and  flaunting 
the  "knot  of  ribbon  blue  "  before  her,  answered  : 

"How  should  I  have  any  idea.  Miss  Hartley? 
Unless — you  know  this!" 

Filled  with  wonder  as  was  fhe  Gadsden  girl's 
brain,  almost  equal  indignation  ranged  up  in  it  and 
formed  alongside.  Her  eyes  sparkled  with  anger; 
but  a  tell-tale  flush  burned  in  her  cheek  as  she  again 


190  JOHN    IIOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

turned  her  back,  and  strode  away  without  a  word. 
And  the  captain  remounted,  well  satisfied  now  about 
his  theory ;  for,  as  he  rode  awa}^  he  said  to  his  lieu- 
tenant : 

"We  did  not  find  the  rebel.  Skinner,  but  I  have 
found  a  pretty  mountain  romance." 

But  Jen  Freeman's  knot  of  blue — and  her  friend's 
tell-tale  blush — were  noted  by  different  eyes,  and  in 
different  seeming.  For  John  Holden — recalling  the 
parting  of  the  pair,  which  he  had  spied  upon  at  Free- 
man Farm,  and  now  noting  the  ribbon  and  the  Fed- 
eral's by-pla\^  with  it — drew  his  own  conclusions. 
That  the\'  were  ugly  ones  w^as  certain ;  and  that  he 
would  make  ugly  use  of  them  if  possible,  his  hate  of 
Freeman,  of  the  girl,  and  most  of  all  for  Latham, 
guaranteed  beyond  all  doubt. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  * 

And,  meanwhile,  that  gay  Confederate  ranger  had 
led  his  men  out  of  the  defile,  round  the  plainly  noted. 
fires  of  Streight's  command,  and  was  moving  into  a 
lower  and  open  road  when  day  broke.  Jen  looked 
wearied,  but  not  "wholly  discontented ;  and  the 
thought  of  her  lover  suggested  a  halt,  and — coffee! 
A  fire  soon  blazed ;  tin  cups  were  rinsed  at  the  spring'; 
and  soon  steaming  "potato  soup  "  was  ready  for  the 
squad  and  its  strange  guest. 

Then  the  same  cannon  Captain  White  had  heard 
on  the  Gadsden  road  boomed  clearer  and  nearer  on 
Latham's  ears,  arid  he  stopped  his  gulping  at  the 
hot  tin  cup,  as  he  cried : 

"That's  Forrest!  He  is  striking  the  enemj',  and 
there'll  be  hot  work  to-day !    Ha !  there's  infantry 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  191 

iire,"he  added,  after  an  instant's  eager  listening,  "far 
to  the  right ;  I  hear  it  plainh',  where  the  men  are 
uncovered  by  the  woods.  Mount!"  he  ordered, 
abruptly.  "Miss  Jen,  I'll  find  j^ou  a  horse  some- 
where, and  our  road  lies  near  your  home !  But  I 
dare  not  leave  you,  in  this  uncertain  movement  cf 
troops.  Will  you  mount  behind  me;  and" — he  hesi- 
tated an  instant,  adding — "will  you  trust  me  still?" 

"I  will  trust  you,"  the  girl  answered,  firmly,  but 
not  letting  her  eyes  meet  his.  "I  would  rather  take 
mv  chances  with  jour  men  than  go  on  alone,  now." 

Soon  they  \vere  trotting  rapidW  along  a  new  road, 
that  cut  directly  across  the  Gadsden  pike.  An  hour 
brought  them  to  a  group  of  wretched  hovels,  lateh' 
occupied  by  charcoal  burners,  but  seemingly  deserted 
now.  But  in  front  of  one  of  them  was  hitched  a  coal 
black  horse,  pawing  and  nickering  as  the  squad 
advanced  up  the  sandy  trail.  "U.  S."  was  stamped 
on  saddle  and  embroidered  on  shabrac ;  but,  though 
the  letters  were  unseen  at  distance,  "U.  S."  stood 
out  unmistakably,  from  sleek  skin  and  rich  accoutre- 
ment of  the  brute.  Small  time  was  needed  to  "cut 
out"  the  prize,  and  strong  hands  led  him  away, 
around  a  turn  that  hid  from  the  hastening  party  the 
sight  of  John  Holden  rushing  to  the  door  of  the 
cabin,  v^ith  "wrathful  eye  and  hand  raised  to  curse 
the  bold  raider  who  left  him  afoot  on  that  day  of  all 
days. 

Turning  from  the  main  road  to  question  one  of  his 
Unionist  pals  as  to  Forrest's  advance,  the  grim  old 
loyalist  had  not  dreamed  of  rebel  scouts  so  near. 
And  now,  while  he  fumed  in  impotent  rage  and  sent 


192  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

curses  after  the  robber,  Beverly  Latham  was  blan- 
keting the  saddle,  a  mile  below,  and  helping  Jen  Free- 
man to  mount  the  horse  of  her  unknown  foe.  For 
the  Virginian  had  said : 

"He's  a  better  beast  than  mine.  Miss  Jen,  and 
easier  gaited.  You  are  not  afraid  to  ride  a  Yankee 
trooper's  horse  ?  " 

''No,  nor  any  other,"  the  girl  had  answered,  with, 
a  confident  smile.  "  Twist  that  blanket '  horn '  a  little 
lower,  please.  Thank  you,  Mr.  Latham."  And,  set- 
tling herself  in  her  improvised  side-saddle,  she  had 
given  the  black  his  head,  had  checked  him  lightly 
with  the  curb,  dropping  it  for  the  snaffle,  and  was 
soon  galloping  by  Latham's  side,  on  excellent  terms 
with  her  new-found  mount. 

But,  as  they  neared  the  main  road,  the  sound  of 
cannonading  grew  louder  and  more  continuous;  soon 
mixed  with  the  coUvStant  rattle  of  small  arms ;  dead- 
ened by  intervening  woods  one  moment,  the  next 
striking  sharp  and  clear  upon  the  ear.  So  Latham 
knew  that  Forrest  had  struck  Streight  a  heavy  blow, 
that  bright  summer  morning;  and,  never  doubting  the 
result  of  deliberate  blow  from  that  master  hand,  the 
young  lieutenant  groaned  in  spirit  that  he  was  not  in 
the  melee,  yet  urged  his  men  forward  with  every 
haste  possible  to  soldierly  caution.  For  now  the 
main  road  was  full  of  Federals, — in  parties,  or  as 
single  stragglers, — hastening  to  or  from  the  scene 
of  conflict.  So  the  wary  scouter  kept  to  the  side 
paths,  under  cover  of  the  heavy  growth,  the  sounds 
of  the  battle  his  only  guide. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  193 

And  gradually  these  rolled  into  distance,  as  Forrest 
drove  his  enemy;  and  it  was  late  afternoon  before 
Latham  overtook  even  the  rear  of  the  Confederate 
force;  and  learned  that  the  hunted  Forrest  had  the 
hunter,  Streight,  well  in  his  toils. 

Then,  after  a  few  words  of  encouragement  to  her, 
and  of  careful  injunction  to  the  corporal  to  watch  his 
charge  zealously  and  to  hasten  for  the  front,  Latham 
spurred  ahead,  in  the  fast  falling  dusk,  to  report 
what  he  had  learned  of  the  Federal  disposition. 

He  found  the  general's  staff  on  the  banks  of  a 
swiftly  running  stream,  high  over  its  bounds  now, 
from  recent  rains;  and  the  commander,  slightly 
advanced  from  the  rest,  examining  the  still  blazing 
bridge,  which  the  Federals  had  fired  as  they  crossed  it. 

Sitting  his  heavy  but  well-bred  horse  with  the 
native  majesty  of  command,  it  needed  no  rank-marks 
on  his  worn  gray  jacket — no  plume  or  gold  cord  to 
his  dingy  slouched  hat — to  mark  the  born  leader  in. 
Nathan  Bedford  Forrest. 

His  great  height — six  feet  two  inches,  added  to  by- 
erect  seat  and  firm  set  of  broad,  sloping  shoulders 
and  deep  round  chest — Forrest's  long  muscular  limbs, 
close  knit  and  agile,  denoted  even  greater  size.  And, 
as  Latham  drew  rein  near  b^-  and  saluted,  the  gen- 
eral raised  his  hat  and  pushed  back — with  strongs 
brown  hand,  on  which  the  veins  stood  out  like  cords 
— the  heavy,  dark  hair  from  his  moist  brow.  It  was 
a  high,  broad  forehead,  too;  whiter  than  the  face 
below,  and  retreating  almost  to  baldness  above 
either  temple.  Broad  seams,  from  constant  pres- 
ence of  responsibility,    or    combination,    lined    this 

13 


19 1  JOHN     HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

forehead ;  and  under  its  heav^^  dark  eyebrows,  wide 
set  and  well  arched,  the  dark,  gray  eyes,  always 
bright  and  searching,  now  literally  blazed  as  they 
turned  in  quer^'  to  the  new  comer.  The  full-based 
nose,  with  its  broad,  generous  nostrils,  gave  rather  a 
heav\^  cast  to  the  sun-browned  face;  and  its  high, 
projecting  cheek  bones,  and  thin,  firm-set  jaws,  gave 
decided  Indian  cast  to  the  face,  save  for  the  black  chin 
whiskers  and  heavy  mustache,  that  showed  the  firm 
lips  and  'regular  white  teeth  only  when  Forrest 
spoke. 

It  was  no  common  face,  that  of  the  alreadyfamous 
cavalry  leader ;  but  neither  was  it  the  face  of  the 
thinker,  or  the  astute  strategist.  Dauntless  courage, 
unswerving  resolution,  tenacity  of  purpose  and 
indomitable  self-reliance,  were  all  stamped  upon  it ; 
but  the  finer  and  more  indefinable  character  amalgam 
— which  blends  all  of  these  and  tempers  them  into 
the  highest  forms  of  greatness — were  not  so  plainly 
discernible.  But  there  was  visible  none  of  that  bull- 
dog viciousness  and  implacable  ferocity,  which  popu- 
lar misstatement  has  caused  acceptance  of,  as  a  real 
part  of  Forrest's  character. 

The  general  listened  restlessly  to  Latham's  brief 
report ;  the  bullets  striking  the  trees  and  bank  about 
them,  during  its  making. 

''So  you've  scouted  over  most  of  this  countr^^ 
eh?  "  he  said,  at  its  close.  "Do  you  know  any  ford 
of  this  stream  within  a  mile  ?  ' ' 

"None,  sir.  Never  had  need  for  one,"  the  youth 
answered,  briefly. 

"Know  any  people  around  here  who  do?  " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  195 

"No,  general.  Most  of  the  people  are  disloj'al, 
and  even  our  own  sort  have  fled  from  the  firing!  " 

"Damn  'em!  They  should  be  doing  some  of  it!" 
the  cavalry  chief  said,  half  to  himself;  then  suddenly: 
■"Latham,  if  I  can  cross  this  creek,  I'll  bag  the 
Yankee !  and,  sir,  I  must  cross !    Find  me  a  guide !  " 

A  sudden  idea  leaped  into  the  soldier's  eyes.  It 
must  have  gleamed  out  of  them,  even  in  the  dusk; 
for  Forrest's  keen  glance  caught  it,  as  he  cried : 

"Ho  !     You  know  him,  do  you  ?  " 

"Possibly,  general,  but  not  — him!''  Latham 
faltered  out.  It  had  flashed  into  his  brain  that  Jen 
Freeman  once  told  him  she  knew  every  road  and  ford 
and  crossing  for  ten  miles  round ;  and  Jen  Freeman 
Avas  within  hail,  so  he  continued:  "If  there  be  a 
ford  an}'  where  near,  it  is  probably  known  to  the 
lady!"  ' 

"Lady!"  the  general  echoed.  "Is  she  in  reach? 
A  true  Southern  girl,  I'd  swear!  All  right,  boy! 
bring  her  here!  " 

"I  will,  sir!"  Latham  saluted,  touched  spur  to 
flank  and  galloped  back  toward  the  rear,  through 
the  fast-closing  night,  leaving  Forrest  still  sitting  on 
the  bank,  regardless  of  the  pattering  bullets  and 
occasional  shells  about  him,  as  though  they  had  been 
acorns  dropped  from  the  trees  above  by  some  play- 
ful squirrel. 

Suddenly  there  was  a  splashing  and  floundering  in 
the  water  below  him ;  the  bushes  parted  and  a 
swarthy,  semi-nude  figure,  dripping  like  a  water-dog, 
approached  the  general  and  saluted. 


196  JOHN    HOLDEN.    UNIONIST. 

"Well,  Johnson,  you  risked  it,  did  you?"  tlie  cav- 
alry chief  asked  eagerh'. 

"Yes,  general.  I  swim  thar  crik,  an'  floated  down 
a  spell.  The  Yanks  ain't  niovin',  but  ther  pickets  is 
thro  wed  down  a  mile  o'  mo'.  The'  ar  a-choppin 
wood,  too;  but  I  couldn't  find  no  ford." 

"That'll  do  I "  Forrest  answered  briefly.  "Here, 
major," — calling  to  one  of  his  staff,  who  promptly 
spurred  forward, — "give  Johnson  a  drink,  please. 
Steady,  Johnson;  you  needn't  empty  the  canteen! 
Major,  the  enemy  will  not  move  oft'  to-night.  I  will 
attack  him  at  dawn,  if,  as  I  hope,  we  have  found  a 
ford.  Order  Captain  Morton  to  have  his  guns  read^- 
to  command  the  crossing  by  dawn,  and  the  company 
officers  to  have  every  man  report  to  his  troop,  at 
once." 

With  these  w^ords,  Forrest  had  rejoined  his  staff, 
trotted  a  hundred  ^^ards  into  the  woods,  and  dis- 
mounted under  a  spreading  oak.  Throwing  his 
waterproof  on  the  ground,  he  lay  upon  it  at  once, 
and  in  an  instant  was  sound  asleep. 

The  sun  had  set  in  clouds  and  threatening  rain; 
but  later  the  moon  rose  mistily  through  them,  show- 
ing forms  vagueh^  at  some  distance.  So,  when  the 
unusual  sight  of  a  tall,  graceful  girl — galloping  upon 
a  coal  black  war-horse,  and  escorted  by  a  jaunty 
young  officer — broke  upon  the  eyes  of  the  chief-of- 
staff,  he  promptly  halted  the  pair,  with  graft'  inquiry 
as  to  their  wants.  But  Forrest,  wide  awake  in  an 
instant,  had  risen  to  his  feet  and  now  strode  for- 
ward, raising  his  hat  to  the  girl,  as  Latham  sprang 
from  saddle  and  saluted,  with  the  introduction: 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  197 

^'Miss  Freeman,  General  Forrest.    The  guide,  sir!" 

"Miss  Freeman,  I  know  you're  true  grit,  or  you 
wouldn't  be  here,"  Forrest  said,  bluntly,  extending 
his  hand.  "I've  driven  those  Yanks  all  day;  but  now 
they've  got  this  crik  between  us,  and  I  must  cross! 
If  I  do,  I'll  bag  them  sure!  Do  you  know  a  ford 
near  here?  " 

"Yes,  general,  I  do,"  the  girl  answered,  calmly. 

"You  do!  That's  a  dear,  good  girl!  And  do  you 
think  you  can  describe  it  perfectly  to  me  ?  " 

"I  can  do  more  than  that,  sir,"  she  answered, 
quietly.  "I  can  take  you  right  to  it!  Come;  I'll 
take  3^ou  now !  "  * 

"Not  just  yet,  my  brave  child!  "  Forrest  answered, 
quietly.  "But  \'OU  shall,  just  before  daylight.  Now 
dismount  and  rest,  as  well  as  you  can  here.  This 
young  man  is  your  friend,  I  suppose?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  an  old  friend,"  Jen  faltered;  but  she  felt 
her  cheeks  glow  in  the  darkness  of  the  woods. 

"Well,  he'll  stay  with  you!  Lieutenant  Latham, 
you  are  appointed  special  escort  to  Miss  Freeman, 
and  charged  with  her  safety,  after  we  cross !  Good- 
night, Miss.    Try  and  sleep." 

Forrest  held  out  his  hand  frankly  again;  turned 
away  and  threw  himself  once  more  on  the  ground, 
to  sleep.  And  Latham,  carrying  the  girl  back  well 
out  of  chance  range  across  the  creek,  helped  her  from 
saddle,  disposed  her  as  comfortably  as  possible  under 
a  tree,  and  soon  had  foraged  a  comfortable  supper 
for  herself  and  him.  The  situation  was  certainly  a 
novel  one  to  both ;   but  there  w^as  something  in  it 

*Miss    Emma   Sanson   piloted   Forrest   across  Black  Creek  Ford,  in 
Streight's  raid,  1863. 


198  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

that  neither  would  have  given  up  for  any  possible 
reward.  Yet,  neither  hinted  aught  of  this  to  the 
other;  and.  supper  finished,  the  man  suggested  sleep 
for  his  charge. 

"You  need  rest,  after  last  night's  excitement  and 
to-day's  fatigue,"  he  said, tenderly.  "Please  trj^  and 
sleep,  on  these  blankets.     I  will  stand  gtiard  here." 

But  the  girl  said  sleep  could  not  visit  her  eyes  in 
such  exciting  and  novel  scene;  so  the  youth  lit  his 
pipe  and  sat  down  for  a  midnight  tcte-a-tete.  Many 
things  they  spoke  of,  and  Jen  wondered  at  her  lover's 
truth  and  self-control — whether  she  regretted  it  or 
not ;  for  never  once  did  he  approach  forbidden 
ground,  or  hint  in  the  least  at  his  passion  for  her, 
though  he  spoke  freely  cind  frankly  of  his  debt  of 
gratitude,  and  of  her  bravery  in  her  present  promise 
to  Forrest. 

"For  3'ou  know,  of  course.  Miss  Jen,  that  this 
promise  you  have  made  the  general  is  not  entirely 
free  of  danger.    You  may  possibh-  get  under  fire." 

"Yes,  I  understand  that,"  she  answered,  calmh'. 
"But  lam  not  in  the  least  afraid.  Even  should 
there  be  great  risk,  it  is  for  the  cause  we  both  love." 

And,  gentU"  as  she  spoke  the  words,  there  was  a 
ring  in  their  tone  that  made  Latham  sure  that  her 
eves  sparkled  and  her  cheeks  glowed,  unseen  in  the 
dim  light.  And  under  that  ring,  there  was  some- 
thing else  in  the  voice,  as  it  framed  the  last  Avords, 
which  made  his  heart  jump  into  his  throat.  All  his 
self-command  w^as  needed,  to  prevent  hot  repetition, 
then  and  there,  of  words  he  had  promised  not  to 
speak  again. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

INTO  THE  JAWS   OF   DEATH. 

Just  before  dawn  the  woods  were  as  peaceful  and 
still  as  though  no  conflict  tore  the  distracted  land, 
and  war  had  never  sprung  from  sown  dragon's  teeth 
of  pride,  or  greed,  or  hate.  And  now,  \vith  the  first 
faint  glimmer  in  the  east,  comes  the  soft  pipe  of  matin 
bird  to  his  mate,  the  drowsy  whirr  of  early  insect, 
the  fresh  scent  of  summer  woods — all  to  speak  of 
peace.  But  with  them  come,  as  quickly,  reminders 
of  stern  and  busy  w^arfare,  as  squadron  after  squad- 
ron mounts  noiselessly  and  with  no  sound  of  trum- 
pet; filing  shadow-like  through  the  wooded  aisles, 
toward  the  indicated  ford. 

Long  preceding  them.  Captain  Morton  had  moved 
his  artillery  down  the  bank — unlimbered  and  ready 
to  move  by  hand,  as  more  noiseless — to  command 
the  crossing  when  the  ford  was  really  found. 

Then  Forrest  rode  dow^nthe  bank  in  shadow  of  the 
trees,  his  face  stern  set  and  calm,  but  his  lips  closely 
compressed — the  nether  one  projecting  slighth'  past 
its  fellow.  His  eyes  keen  and  watchful,  but  quiet 
still,  scanned  the  opposite  bank  for  sign  of  movement, 
ever  and  again  dropping  to  the  swiftly  racing 
stream,  and  then  rising  to  the  face  of  Jen  Freeman,. 

D99 


200  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

who  rode  by  his  left  side,  quiet   and  unmoved  as 
though  on  her  way  to  country  church. 

Passing  the  battery,  the  girl  checked  the  eager  and 
rather  restive  black  she  rode;  and,  pointing  to  the 
bank,  said  quietly: 

"This  is  the  ford,  general." 
Forrest  looked  keenh'  into  her  face  an  instant, 
not  dropping  his  eyes  as  he  asked : 

"Are  you  certain?  Um;  I  believe  you  are.  How 
deep  is  it?" 

"Girth  deep,  now,  I  judge,  sir,"  the  girl  answered 
calmly,  measuring  the  brush  on  the  steep  bank. 
"But  the  ford  is  not  straight, general.  Inmid-stream 
it  turns  sharp  to  the  left,  down  stream.  There  are 
bad  holes,  there,  to  the  right." 

Forrest  bit  the  end  of  the  tough  switch  he  had 
broken  off,  as  they  rode  along.  Scanning  the  racing 
waters  a  moment,  he  muttered,  half  to  himself: 

"Um  !  that's  bad.  How  can  I  be  sure  of  the  spot? 
One  misstep  might  be  fatal." 

"I  will  cross  with  you,  general!" 
The  words  were  quietly  spoken;  no  bravado  in 
them,  only  resolute  decision.  And  Forrest's  ej^es, 
flashing  a  gleam  into  the  girl's,  found  them  calmly 
bent  upon  the  water,  though  her  face  was  a  trifle 
paler  and  the  full  lips  set  firm. 

"You!  Impossible!"  he  answered,  promptly. 
" They  will  open  fire  on  us,  as  soon  as  we  uncover!  " 

"I  expect  that,"  Jen  answered,  still  calmly,  but  a 
little  whiter  now.  "1  will  go  over,  though.  You 
must  not  miss  the  ford." 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  201 

"You  shall,  my  brave  girl!"  The  cavalry  chief 
reached  out  his  hard  hand  and  grasped  the  girl's  in 
real  comradeship.  "If  I  had  a  brigade  like  you, 
nothing  could  hold  that  bank !  Lieutenant  Latham, 
keep  as  near  her  as  the  water  permits.  You  are 
attached  to  my  personal  staff,  sir,  for  the  present; 
jou  cross  with  us  !  " 

Latham  answered  by  a  salute  only,  but  his  e\-es 
met  Jen's  with  a  world  of  thankfulness  in  them,  and 
his  cheek  flushed  warm  as  he  drew  closer  to  her  side. 

"I  brought  3'ou  into  this  danger," he  whispered,  as 
Forrest  turned  to  give  some  order.  "  God  grant  that 
it  may  be  averted  from  you,  to  me !  " 

"God  grant  that  it  may  harm  neither  of  us,"  the 
girl  ^^hispered  solemnly ;  but  she  never  turned  her 
€yes  from  the  water  to  his  face,  though  her  lips 
moved  slowly,  as  though  in  mute  prayer. 

Dawn  began  to  brighten  into  a  clearer  gray,  now, 
as  Morton's  men  shoved  his  guns  silently  toward 
the  bank,  trained  them  upon  the  woods  beyond  the 
stream,  and  primers  were  shoved  home.  Behind  him 
the  troops  massed  in  the  wood ;  the  front  squadrons 
formed  in  twos,  well  down  to  the  guns ;  the  reserve 
deplo\nng  into  cover,  right  and  left,  to  support  them. 
Then  Forrest  drew  up  to  the  girl's  right  again,  salut- 
ing her  with  his  switch,  as  he  said,  gravely: 

"I  am  ready.  Miss  Freeman!  I  await  your  com- 
mand." 

With  paler  cheeks,  but  eyes  still  calmly  fixed  upon 
the  ford,  Jen  gripped  the  reins  more  firmly  in  her  lit- 
tle hands,  settling  herself  in  the  improvised  saddle. 
She  made  no  reply  but  a  brief  nod,  moving  promptly 


202  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

beyond  the  sheltering  trees,  down  the  bank  and  to- 
the  water's  edge. 

There,  with  a  fierce  and  sudden  snort,  the  black 
refused,  planting  his  fore  feet  on  the  slippery  mud, 
shivering.  Next  instant,  he  shook  his  great  neck 
fierceh%  reared  bolt  upright,  and  tried  to  bolt  short 
to  the  left.  Latham's  right  hand  shot  out  swiftly  for 
her  bit ;  but  the  girl's  low  voice  checked  him,  calling 
rapidly,  but  coolly : 

"Don't!  I  can  make  him  !  " 
And,  with  the  words  she  jerked  the  right  rein: 
sharply,  and  the  heay\' chestnut  twig  she  carried  came 
down  twice,  heavily,  over  the  black's  head.  Next 
instant  he  had  taken  to  the  water,  trembling  but 
docile,  as  he  picked  careful  waj'  into  the  deeper  flood. 

And  still  no  sound  came  from  the  bank  beyond; 
and  Forrest's  keen  eye,  scanning  the  woods  behind 
it,  saw  no  single  sign  of  life.  The  very  leaves  slept, 
still  in  the  breezeless  dawn ;  not  a  picket  was  visible ; 
and  the  camp — known  to  lie  beyond — might  have 
been  a  veritable  "Bivouac  of  the  Dead!"  But  his 
keen  soldier-sense  was  not  misled  by  this  too-appar- 
ent neglect;  and  the  quick  glance  backward,  over  his 
shoulder,  had  some  uneasiness  in  it.  What  it  took 
in  promptly  reassured  him.  Steadily,  quietly,  and  in 
unbroken  sweep,  his  squadrons  had  moved  down  the 
bank,  entered  the  stream  and  were  well  on  to  the 
turn  of  the  ford ;  while,  from  the  bank  behind  them, 
the  smooth,  youthful  face  of  Captain  Morton  bent 
on  the  vacant  and  silent  rise  opposite  as  though  each 
bush  were  a  battalion ;  his  gunners  ready,  la.nyard  irt 
hand! 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  203 

The  crossing  was  half  made,  and  was  well  covered; 
and  the  Indian  face  of  the  cavalry  chief  glowed  \vith 
pride  in  the  command  he  had  trusted  in  so  often,  and 
never  in  vain. 

Suddenly  the  bushes  opposite,  far  to  the  right, 
seemed  shorn  across  by  a  blade  of  flame,  followed  by 
a  light-rising  puff  of  cloud ;  and,  ere  a  sound  could 
reach  those  in  mid-ford,  a  cannister  shot  hissed  high 
overhead,  followed  by  another,  from  the  extreme lelt. 
Then  as  pandemonium  were  suddenly  loosed,  field  piece 
after  field  piece  belched  from  the  bank,  while  lines  of 
sheeted  fire  zig-zagged  through  the  brush  lining  the 
lower  shore,  speakingit  populous  with  sharpshooters. 

At  the  first  flash,  Forrest  had  risen  in  his  stirrups 
and  half-turned  in  saddle,  waving  the  chestntit 
bough  he  carried,  in  signal.  Then,  as  Morton's  guns 
bellowed  in  reply,  he  stooped  to  the  girl  with  quickly 
spoken  words,  clearly  heard  above  the  din : 

"Keep  cool,  child!  Don't  lose  the  ford — now! 
Forward !  Faster !  "  And,  striking  her  horse  sharply 
with  his  switch,  the  seasoned  fighter  touched  his  own 
with  the  spur;  keeping  close  to  her  side,  but  a  little 
in  advance,  between  her  and  the  now  fast  pattering 
bullets. 

"  This  way ;  keep  well  to  the  left !  "  Jen  cried,  turn- 
ing down  stream  a  few, rods,  then  sharp  to  the 
opposite  bank  again. 

And  still  above  them  boomed  Morton's  giins  • 
steadier  now,  and  faster — sending  tearing,  crashing 
messengers  into  those  woods  belching  fire  on  them. 
Rapidly — solemnly — those  deadly  iron  mouths  spoke ; 
well    trained    and    telling.     And,    from    the    woods 


^04  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

beliind  and  beA'ond  them,  a  deadly  fire  poured  into 
the  foe  that  had  deemed  himself  secure.  And  then, 
from  mid-stream,  too,  as  each  squadron  turned,  fol- 
lowing its  strange  girl  guide  with  the  precision  of 
dress  parade,  carbines  came  swift  to  shoulder,  to 
send  their  compliments  to  the  saucy  foe. 

Faster  and  faster  the  cannon  of  the  Confederates 
boomed  out ;  sharper  and  heavier  rattled  the  fire  of 
small  arms.  And,  graduall}^,  that  of  the  Federals 
slackened — while  close  in  range  and  churning  the  fast- 
rushing  stream  into  foam.  Then  his  cannon  silenced  ; 
and  their  dull  rumble  told  they  were  moving  back  to 
higher  position ;  and  Forrest — again  rising  in  his  stir- 
rups— waved  his  switch  as  signal.  The  last  squad- 
rons on  the  bank  dashed  into  the  stream ;  and,  as 
Jen's  now  thoroughly  excited  black  struck  the  bank 
and  scrambled  up,  the  whole  command  was  half 
crossed,  and  the  ford  was  won ! 

Then  bugles  rang,  the  ralh^  sounded,  and  in  less  time 
than  its  telling  takes  the  line  of  battle  formed.  And, 
at  the  moment,  the  plunging  horses,  answering  to 
lash  and  oath,  were  dragging  Morton's  guns  across 
the  ford. 

Just  beyond  the  river  growth  spread  a  broad,  level 
plateau,  its  edges  circled  by  a  heavily  timbered  rise. 
And  now  from  this,  swept  fresh  lines  of  lightning, 
from  cannon  mouth  and  rifle  barrel ;  their  ugly  mes- 
sengers singing  through  the  air  above  or  hissing 
ominously  in  the  ears  of  the  astounded  girl. 

"Tell  Morton  to  hurr\"  up  the  guns!"  Forrest 
roared  over  the  din  of  battle,  as  he  waved  the  chest- 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  205- 

nut  switcli  above  his  head   and  glanced   down  the 
line.     "Now,  boys,  cAaro-e.'  and  give  them — " 

He  paused,  his  favorite  word  unuttered.  Even  at 
that  supreme  moment  his  eye,  blazing  with  the  glee 
of  battle,  fell  upon  the  girl,  and  he  added:  "Quick, 
Latham  !     Carry  her  into  cover !  " 

Next  instant  he  spurred  away,  leading  the  squad- 
rons that  thundered  on  behind  him  to  resistless 
charge !  But,  even  ere  he  spoke,  the  j-ounger  soldier 
had  leaned  over  his  horse's  neck,  reaching  for  the 
black's  bit,  as  he  screamed  over  the  roar  of  guns: 

"  Turn,  Jen !  This  way ;  quick !  To  the  left !  " 
But  the  powerful  black  was  on  fire  now;  and^ 
tossing  his  head  fiercely,  he  threw  out  his  long, 
corded  neck  and  took  the  bit.  Then,  with  a  trumpet 
snort,  he  launched  out  his  heels  once,  darting  away,. 
just  beyond  the  man's  reach. 

"Hold  him!  — For  God's  sake,  turii!"  Latham 
again  roared,  at  full  power  of  his  lungs.  And  he  dug 
vicious  spurs  into  his  own  horse  and  followed  the 
flying  black.  And  Forrest,  a  dozen  lengths  ahead  of 
his  line,  felt  rather  than  heard  the  thunder  of  hoofs 
close  behind ;  but  ere  he  could  turn  and  then  reach 
out  his  hand,  the  black  closed  on  him — then  dashed 
by;  frantic  now  with  battle-rage,  ungovernable  bj'- 
the  slim  hands  hanging  to  him  bravely,  as  he  raced 
into  the  very  core  of  fire — straight  for  the  Federal 
lines ! 

But  close  behind  him,  plying  hand  and  voice  and 
spur,  raced  Beverly  Latham ;  his  lips  white,  but  set 
and  stern,  his  eyes  riveted  on  the  slim,  erect  figure 
careering  so  swiftly  to  capture,  or — death ! 


206  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

Jen  Freeman,  dizzy  but  exultant  with  strange 
excitement,  clung  firmly  to  her  seat,  steadying  the 
powerful  head  she  could  not  control.  The  sounds 
about  her  ears  were  new  and  awful;  "sing"  of  shot 
and  "whoo!"  of  shell— cut  by  the  dull  "pungi"  or 
sharp,  agonizing  crj-,  as  bullets  met  resisting  flesh 
and  bone ! 

But  the  girl  was  not  afraid.  With  no  time  to 
think,  even  to  recall  where  she  was,  her  instinct  told 
her  that  her  horse  was  running  away ;  that  she  was 
in  deadly  peril  each  moment !  that  death  might  come 
the  next !  Yet  her  cheeks  glowed  and  her  eyes 
gleamed,  as  the\'  had  not  in  the  cautious  passage  of 
the  ford ;  and  a  whirling,  delirious  sense  that  was  a 
sort  of  jo\^,  mounted  to  her  brain.  She  was  far  ahead 
of  the  advancing  line,  her  horse  gaining  at  every 
bound ;  but  she  sat  erect  upon  that  rough  saddle, 
clinging  to  the  bit  that  heobe\'ed  not,  in  very  ecstacy 
of  excitement ! 

Suddenly  she  felt  a  jolting  jar,  a  break  in  his  stride, 
as  the  gallant  brute  fell  to  his  knees — rose  again, 
quivering — staggered  one  stride — plunged  heavily 
forward — then  rolled  over  on  his  side !  But — at  the 
moment — she  felt  also  a  rough  shock,  a  violent  sweep 
to  one  side,  a  close  and  almost  stifling  pressure,  that 
seemed  to  tear  her  through  the  air. 

Then  quick  revulsion  came ;  she  grew  cold,  limp, 
sick,  almost  losing  consciousness.  For  agonized, 
remorseful,  chilled  b3'  dread  as  he  was,  Beverly 
Latham  still  retained  the  coolness  of  a  mind  bent 
upon  one  object  only.  Unmindful  of  shot  and  shell — 
with   his    e\'es  riveted  only    upon   the  loved    form 


JOHN    nOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  207 

before  him  flying  into  the  jaws  of  death,  he  urged  his 
own  horse  by  voice  and  knee  and  cruel  use  of  spur. 
For  a  while  he  hung  close  to  the  black's  flank ;  then, 
with  a  heart  growing  cold  from  despair,  he  felt  him- 
self losing  ground  at  every  jump.  Then  his  practiced 
eye,  riveted  upon  the  chase,  saw  the  shock  that 
almost  halted  the  black ;  the  shivering  stumble— the 
supreme  eftbrt.  He  knew  a  ball  had  pierced  the 
horse's  breast ;  and  with  a  gasp  he  closed  his  eyes, 
as  he  swept  on— mechanically  driving  both  spurs 
fiercely  home. 

But,  opening  them  instantly,  the  intuition  of  love 
showed  him  the  girl  erect- unhurt ;  and  setting  his 
teeth  and  drawing  a  great  breath,  he  braced  himself 
in  saddle — launched  out  his  strong  right  arm,  as  he 
passed  in  full  career— and  tore  her  from  the  saddle, 
just  in  time ! 

Over  rolled  the  great  black  horse,  with  shuddering 
kicks — deadly — terrible ! 

Past  swept  the  pursuing  rider ;  panting,  breathless, 
straining  ever\'  nerve ;  but  with  heart  bursting  with 
joy.  For  with  him  he  bore  the  precious  freight  of 
her  he  loved — as  he  knew  now — better  than  his  own 
life ;  and — saved  by  him ! 

Quickly  he  checked  his  flying  horse ;  the  bullets  sing- 
ing close  by  his  ears,  v^hooing  shells  filling  the  sky 
above  him  with  dread  ^varnings. 

One  supreme  effort  of  strength,  and  the  girl  was 
raised  before  him,  both  his  arms  supporting  her  upon 
the  pommel,  as  he  wheeled  and  fled  for  her  life,  back 
to  meet  the  charge.  And  those  thundering  squadrons 
— sweeping  do\v^n  upon  him  without  break  or  gap, 


208  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

with  never  a  shot  breaking  the  terriffic  power  of  their 
onset — opened,  swept  by,  and  closed  again  behind 
him ;  a  w41d  yell — ringing — exulting — terrible  to  hear^ 
surging  their  p«an  for  his  act ! 

And,  ere  the  line  had  opened,  the  tall,  grim  warrior 
form  leading  it  had  dashed  by,  the  gladiator  gleam 
red  in  his  eyes,  the  chestnut  switch  lashing  the  air 
aloft,  the  firm  lips  set  in  iron  rigor.  But  they 
opened,  even  then ;  and  over  shot  and  shell — over 
thunder  of  hoof  and  above  the  rebel  yell,  Latham 
heard  his  heart  bound  as  he  caught  the  brief  words : 

"Well  done,  sir!" 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

PARTING. 

The  tide  of  battle  swept  into  the  circling  woods ; 
through  them — beyond  !  Shot  and  crash  and  shout 
resounded  fainter  now  ;  almost  dying  in  the  distance. 
And  in  a  little  glade  aside,  protected  by  thick  growth,. 
Latham  stood  still ;  breathless,  with  beads  of  mois- 
ture on  his  bare  brow,  but  well  content  indeed.  For^. 
still  resting  against  his  arm,  Jen  Freeman  stood, 
panting  and  dizz}^,  but  with  red  lips  and  cheeks  still 
glow^ing  with  color. 

Dazed  and  somewhat  dizzy,  the  girl  was  not  of  the 
sort  that  faints  to  express  its  feelings;  and,  a  brief 
moment  after  being  lifted  from  his  horse,  she  relieved 
her  escort  of  her  light — and  much  regTctted — weight. 

"What  was  it  all?  "  she  said,  dizzily.  "Tell  me;  I 
do  not  understand  !  " 

"It  was  nothing,  thank  God!"  he  answered  fer- 
vently. "  Your  horse — a  Yankee  capture — ran  away.. 
You  were — " 

"  Yes !  Now  I  remember !  "  She  raised  her  eyes  full 
to  his ;  gentle,  dim  with  feeling,  but  brave  and  true. 
"Oh!  Mr.  Latham,  how  can  I  thank  you!  You 
saved  my  life ! ' ' 

14  209 


210  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"Oh,  no!  Miss  Jen.  I  only  helped  you  tip  when 
your  horse  fell,"  the  man  tried  to  say  quietly;  but 
his  cheeks  burned  red  and  his  breath  came  fast  and 
short,  under  her  glance  and  her  tender  tone.  "It 
was  risky;  but,  thank  Heaven !  you  are  safe  now." 

"Yes;  thank  Hcciven — and  you!'^  she  persisted. 
But  this  time  she  did  not  look  at  him ;  and  the  c  )lor 
faded  out  of  her  cheek.  Then,  sudden  revulsion  of 
feeling  played  upon  her  tense  strung  nerves ;  and 
with  a  little  shudder  she  cried  : 

"Oh !  what  have  I  done !  So  bold — so  unmaidenl3^ 
Please,  Mr.  Latham,  get  me  away  from  here !  Please 
take  me  home! " 

"Surely  I  will.  Miss  Jen,  just  as  soon  as  it  is  safe," 
he  answered.  "But,  what  have  you  done?  WhyJ 
the  grandest,  bravest,  truest  act  a  woman  ever  did ! 
You  are  a  little  hero  !  " 

"I  have  no  ambition  for  that,"  she  answered, 
again  shuddering.  "I  must  seem  bold — unwomanly 
to  them  and— JO w.'  Can  we  not  get  away? — get 
home?" 

"In  a  little  while,"  he  answered,  soothingly. 
"Listen!  The  bugle  sounds  the  recall!  Forrest  has 
driven  them !     You  led  us  to  victory !  " 

"It  was  terrible !"  was  all  her  answer;  and  she 
pressed  her  hands  over  her  eyes,  as  though  to  shut 
out  a  suddenly  vivid  memory. 

Latham  made  no  answer;  stepping  out  into  the 
open  and  sweeping  the  field  in  quest  of  news.  Far, 
above  the  fringe  of  trees  a  faint  blue  cloud  of  smoke 
hovered,  low  and  light.  A  bugle  cut  the  stillness, 
answered  from  the  field  beyond  him  by  a  groan,  or 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  211 

the  human  cry  of  a  wounded  horse;  while  here  and 
there  lay  stifif,  still  forms  of  what  had  late  been  men ; 
and  scattered  arms  and  blankets— hats  and  canteens 
dotted  the  torn  and  trampled  earth.  Riderless 
horses  trotted  toward  him,  neighing  pitifulh' ;  only 
to  dart  away  at  a  word,  kicking  and  terrified.  And, 
high  above  his  head,  in  the  clear  morning  sunshine, 
floated  and  sailed  dim,  circling  specks,  scarcely  recog- 
nizable. But  the  soldier  knew  they  were  the  grim- 
mest followers  of  battle;  those  feathered  Valkyrie 
that  scent  it  afar  off,  now  hastening  to  their  dread- 
ful feast— spread  for  them  by  the  hands  of  man 
himself ! 

With  grave  face  and  set  lips  the  young  soldier 
turned  to  re-enter  the  copse ;  suddenly  checking  him- 
self, and  striding  into  the  field  again.  A  riderless 
horse  had  begun  to  graze,  and  the  trooper 
approached  him  cautiously.  But  the  beast  did  not 
attempt  escape ;  only  nickered  and  looked  up,  again 
dropping  his  head  to  graze.  And  then  he  saw  that 
the  bridle  was  held  by  a  man,  stretched  prone  upon 
the  field,  doubtless  badly  hurt.  Breaking  into  a  run, 
Latham  was  soon  bending  over  him ;  but  the  glassy, 
open  eyes  stared  at  the  sun  unblinking,  and  the 
hand  that  clinched  the  rein  so  vise-like  was  stiff  and 
cold ;  for  life  had  swiftly  gone  out  through  that  gap- 
ing portal,  torn  in  his  chest  by  fragment  of  a  shell. 

"Poor  fellow!"  he  said,  aloud,  as  he  gazed  down  on 
the  dead  man;  adding  with  a  sigh:  "I  wonder  which 
of  us  is  happier!  " 

Then  he  forced  open  the  stiff,  resisting  fingers, 
threw  the  bridle  over  the  horse's  neck  and,  mounting 


212  JOHN    HOLDEX,    UNIONIST. 

quickly,  trotted  toward  the  cover,  just  as  an  officer 
galloped  at  speed  from  the  trees  beyond.  It  was  a 
major  of  Forrest's  staff,  and  he  overtook  the  lieuten- 
ant and  hailed,  just  as  he  entered  the  cover : 

"Are  you  Lieutenant  Latham?  Ah,  I  see.  Where 
is  the  lad}-?" 

"Just  in  here,  sir,"  Latham  saluted,  and  led  the 
wa}^,  "and  perfectly  safe,  I'm  glad  to  say." 

"Delighted  to  hear  it,"  the  major  answered  heart- 
ih',  as  he  alighted  near  Jen  and  bared  his  head.  "So 
\vill  the  general  be.  Miss  Freeman.  He  was  very 
anxious  about  yoti,  and  bade  me  ride  fast  and  find 
you  certainly." 

"You  are  both  very  good,"  Jen  said,  with  lowered 
eyes.     "Please  thank  General  Forrest  for  me." 

"Not  at  all,  miss, "the  soldier  answered.  "Streight 
has  sent  in  a  flag  of  truce.  We  have  driven  him  into 
a  corner ;  and  I  think  he  will  surrender.  This  success 
the  general  feels  is  largely  due  to  your  courage  and 
heroism,  Miss  Freeman.  He  asks  you  to  ride  to 
headquarters  that  he  may  thank  you  in  person, 
before  the  troops !" 

"  Oh !  no— no  ! — no  !  "  Jen  cried,  wnth  almost  a  sob. 
"Oh!  I  could  not'.  I  have  done  nothing  at  all;  and 
I  have  seen  too  much  of  this  already  I  I  am  heartsick 
from  thinking  of  the  poor  killed  and  \vounded  men! 
Oh,  sir!  I  only  wish  to  get  away — to  get  home! 
There  is  a  road  beyond  this  which  will  take  me 
there.  Oh !  please  let  me  go ;  and  tell  the  general 
why." 

"Certainly,  Miss  Freeman,  if  you  wish, "the  major 
said,  gallantly.    "The  loss  will  be  the  general's,  that 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  213 

I  must  thank  a'OU  for  liim,  cordially— sincerely  and 
in  the  name  of  Forrest's  corps!"  He  held  out  his 
hand;  the  trembling  girl  placed  hers  in  it,  with  a 
faint  smile  on  her  lips.  And  the  soldier  bent  his  bared 
head,  and  pressed  his  lips  upon  the  sHm  brown  fin- 
gers with  the  same  reverence  as  they  had  worn  the 
gleaming  signet  of  an  empress. 

"Mr.  Latham,"  he"  added,  "you  can  escort  Miss 
Freeman  home.  Report  to  the  general  when  you 
have  seen  her  safely  there.  Good-bye,  Miss  Freeman. 
Rest  assured  that  Forrest's  men  will  never  forget 
you!" 

"Heaven  grant  they  may!"  the  girl  cried  with 
more  fervor  than  tact,  as  a  deep  blush  overspread 
her  face — "Oh!  sir,  please  ask  the  general  never  to 
mention  my  name  to  anyone.  And  please  ask  the 
staff !     I  so  dread  being  known  in  this !" 

The  soldier's  face  spoke  strong  amazement ;  but  his 
disciplined  lips  only  formed  the  words : 

"  Your  wishes  shall  be  sacred,  miss." 
He  again  raised  his  cap,  saluted  Latham  and  rode 
away;  and  the  young  man,  arranging  his  saddle  as 
best  he  could,  said : 

"You  had  better  ride  my  horse,  Miss  Jen.  He  is 
quieter  than  the  dea — the  trooper's.  When  you  rest 
a  while,  we  will  start." 

"No,  now,"  the  girl  said,  impatiently.  "I  am 
rested,  and  I  long  to  get  away  from  here — home. 
Oh !  what  a  dreadful  thing  war  is !  " 

They  rode  through  the  bright,  scented  woods — 
vocal  with  bird  songs  and  chirp  of  insect — almost  in 
silence  for  several  miles.      For  Jen  seemed  lost  in 


214  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UXIONIST. 

thought,  her  head  bowed  and  her  e\'es  upon  her 
horse's  mane;  and  Latham's  heart  was  too  full  of 
her  for  him  to  speak  on  any  theme  but  one — and  that 
one  forbidden  equally  by  her  mandate  and  by  that 
of  his  own  self-respect. 

At  last  they  reached  the  broad  highwav;  a  mile 
onh^  separating  the  girl  from  the  haven  of  her  own 
home,  so  longed  for  now.  Then  she  drew  rein  and 
said  : 

"We  must  part  now,  Mr.  Latham.  I  must  go 
home  alone,  and  explain  it  all  as  best  I  can.  Oh !  if 
you  could  know  how  ashamed  I  feel  of  my  bold, 
unwomanly  conduct !  How  can  I  explain  to  papa 
my  presence  in  Forrest's  army  and  how — how  I  got 
there !  How  can  I  explain  to  Sis  how  I  left  her  house 
— alone  and  at  midnight — to — to — " 

"  To  do  the  most  heroic  thing !  "  he  broke  in  impet- 
uoush'.  "To  sacrifice  your  own  feelings — to  risk 
your  life,  to  save  your — friend!  God  only  knows, 
Jen  Freeman,  how  I  feel  the  greatness  of  your  deed 
that  night.  You  know  too  well  what  I  felt  for  you 
before!  You  know  my  life  was  yours  before;  and 
now  it  isk  doubly  yours !  " 

"Hush!  You  must  not  speak  so,"  she  said,  very 
low ;  her  head  still  bowed  and  her  eyes  not  raised. 
"You  must  go  now.  Good-bye!  I  will  always 
remember  3'ou — as  m}'  friend  I  " 

"And  is  that  all  you  will  say  to  me,  Jen?"  he  urged, 
feeling  sweeping  his  resolve  aside.  "You  know  I 
love  you  ;  we  are  parting,  perhaps  forever;  you  know 
I  owe  my  life  to  you,  and  you  will  not  let  my  love— 
my  gratitude — " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  215 

"I  do  not  want  your  gratitude,"  she  answered, 
more  coldl}'.  "You  owe  me  nothing  but — what  you 
pledged — your  friendship  I  " 

"And  that  is  all  you  will  say ?  All  you  will  let  me 
hope?"  he  pleaded. 

"It  is  all  I  can  say,"  she  answered,  verj^  low,  but 
Terj^  firmly.  "It  is  what  a^ou  should  hope  I  would 
sa}'.  Let  us  be  friends,  Mr.  Latham;  and  God — who 
spared  me  to-day — knows  I  am  a  true  one  to  you. 
You  yourself  said,  *  This  war  cannot  last  always.' 
When  it  is  over — perhaps  long  before  it  is  over — you 
will  have  forgotten  a  wish  impelled  by  fancy,  or  by — 
gratitude." 

"It  is  not!"  he  cried,  warmly.  "You  are  the 
bravest,  best  woman  I  have  ever  known — so  different 
from  them  all! " 

"So  different,  indeed !" she  said,  sadly,  her  head 
bowing  lower.  "  Being  so  now,  with  all  the  glamor 
of  the  recent  past,  I  would  be  more  different  still, 
when  novelty  was  over  and  timehad  done  its  work." 

"And  vou  will  not  let  mv  gratitude — " 

"No  !  "  she  broke  in ;  and  for  the  first  time  her  eyes 
met  his.  "I  tell  j^ou  I  want  no  gratitu^le!  You 
deceive  yourself,  Mr.  Latham ;  and  I  will  not  aid 
you !  You  owe  me  nothing — but  friendship,"  she  fin- 
ished, more  gently. 

"Not  when  j^ou  nursed  me  back  to  health?  Not 
when  you  risked  j^our  life,  in  danger  and  at  midnight, 
to  save  mine  ?  ' ' 

Her  eyes  never  left  his  face,  nor  did  hers  grow  paler 
as  she  spoke;  but  a  something  he  could  not  read 
passed  over  it  as  she  answered  quietly : 


21G  JOHN    HOLDKN,    UNIONIST. 

"Granting  both,  one  hour  ago  j^ou  saved  me  from 
a  hideous — unwomanly — death,  at  deadly  peril  to 
yourself.  If  you  insist  upon  the  score  of  gratitude, 
Mr.  Latham.  I  am  still  your  debtor." 

"Jen!  you  vr/7/ say  nothing  tnore?" 

"I  can  say  nothing  more,"  she  repeated,  her  eyes 
bent  down  again.  "In  a  little  w^hile,  you  will  thank 
me  that  I — did  not.  And  now,  God  bless  and  guard 
you,  my  friend  !     Good-b3^e !  " 

She  held  out  her  hand ;  not  raising  her  eyes.  If  he 
saw  the  movement,  she  did  not  know;  for  she  could 
not  see  the  color  fall  out  of  the  man's  checks,  as  he 
opened  his  lips  to  reply.  But  no  word  passed  them ; 
an  angry  flush  mounting  to  his  face  and  an  ugly 
gleam  of  mortified  pride  creeping  into  the  eyes  that 
he  fixed  upon  her  one  instant.  The  next,  he  w^heeled 
his  horse  abruptly,  dug  both  spurs  home,  and  lifted 
his  cap  stiffly,  as  he  bounded  away,  with  the  cold 
farewell  : 

"  Good-day,  Miss  Freeman !  " 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

AN  INTERRUPTED   LYNCHING. 

Sis  Hartley  was  soreh^  perturbed  in  spirit ;  for 
that  young  lady  \vas  a  belle  in  her  own  right,  and 
was  thoroughly  spoiled  at  home  besides.  In  her 
small  mountain  flirtations,  which  were  numerous, 
she  had  ever  taken  counsel  with  Jen  Freeman ;  not 
confessing  to  herself  that  she  looked  up  to,  and  relied 
upon,  the  stronger  character  and  native  dignity  of 
her  life-long  playmate  and  late  co-graduate  in  Nash- 
ville "finish."  And  in  more  serious  or  practical 
matters  she  relied  wholly  on  her  male  parent — 
*' popper"  as  she  called  him;  her  mother  being  a 
w^eakling  in  spirit  and  more  so  in  flesh,  racked  long 
by  mountain  rheumatism. 

But  in  present  perturbation,  both  props  were 
swept  from  Miss  Hartlej^ ;  and  she  floundered  help- 
lessly, and  almost  hopelessly,  in  the  slough  of 
despond.  For  the  first  time  in  her  life,  she  confessed 
she  "never  could  make  out  Jen  Freeman;"  and  now 
doubt  began  to  creep  over  incapacity.  She  had 
passed  a  restless  night,  after  at  last  giving  up  hope  of 
Jen's  return  on  the  eve  of  the  battle ;  and  late  watch 
— as  has  been  seen — did  not  prevent  her  rising  with 
dawn,   for    its    renewal.        Creeping    down    to    the 


218  JOHN    HOLDEX,    UNIONIST. 

road  at  earliest  hint  of  daylight,  she  leaned  over 
the  gate  to  question  the  first  moving  passer.  Then 
she  saw  a  weakly  toiling  woman  moving  slowly  dowrt 
the  way,  seemingly  worn  by  a  long  tramp,  but  ever 
glancing  furtively  behind  her,  as  in  fear  of  some 
dreaded  object  in  pursuit.  The  woman  shuffled  on 
hastily,  not  raising  her  head  until  Sis  hailed  her,  just 
at  the  gate.  Then  she  started  guiltily,  looked  cau- 
tiously behind  and  around  her,  mumbling  only  the 
one  word :  "  'Morn'n' !  "  as  she  passed. 

"Why,  Lize  Holden !  "  the  other  cried.  "You're 
out  early,  to  look  so  tired.     Stop  a  while  and  rest.'' 

"I  hez  no  time  ter  rest,"  the  widow  whined,  nerv- 
ously.    "I  mus'  git  hum — er  he'll  know't !  " 

She  started  off  again,  just  as  the  signal  cannon 
broke  the  dawn's  stillness,  its  echo  halting  her  and 
forcing  the  cry : 

"Gawd  help  'er!  I  du  hope.  Miss  Jen  be  n't  thar 
yit!" 

"Jen  Freeman  ?  What  do  you  know  of  her  ?  Where 
is  she,  Lize?  "  the  girl  cried, running  after  the  woman 
and  seizing  her  arm. 

"I  hezn't  sed  as  I  knowed,  hez  I?"  was  the  indi- 
rect reply.     "But  I  low  she  ar'  safe  'long  ov  'im !" 

"Him!"  Sis  echoed  the  pronoun  personal,  wide- 
eyed  with  wonder.  But  the  woman,  nodding  her 
head  and  giving  her  yellow  smile,  suddenly  broke 
away  from  Sis  and  started  to  run  feebly  down  the 
road.  Her  terror-quickened  sense  caught,  before  the 
girl's,  the  tramp  of  coming  hoofs ;  and  the  first  law 
of  nature  impelled  her  to  flight  and  hiding  firom 
"paw." 


JOHN    HOI.UEN,    UNIONIST.  219 

"StopI"    Sis  cried.     "  Where  is  Jen  ?  " 
But  Lize  fled  away,  crying  over  her  shoulder : 

"She  ben't  dangerin'  none,  'long  ov  her  yung  man! 
Th'  soljer  '11  look  out  fur  his  gell !  " 

And  she  plunged  into  the  woods,  as  the  hoofs 
sounded  nearer;  leaving  Sis,  dismayed  and  wonder- 
ing, to  re-enter  her  gate  and  mount  guard  upon  it. 
Nor  did  the  quick  following  colloquy  with  the  Federal 
captain  aid  solution  of  the  now  deep  mystery;  and 
all  that  day  wonder  about  it  divided  her  interest 
in  the  battle,  raging  long  and  loud  within  hearing- 
distance.  For,  to  her  many  confidences  Jen  had 
never  responded  in  kind,  having  none  to  give.  And 
Sis  had  onh^  known  casually  that  a  wounded  Confed- 
erate had  been  nursed  at  Freeman ;  Farm  but  had 
suspected  no  romance.  And  it  could  not  be  he,  she 
reasoned ;  for  the  Federal  captain  had  the  ribbon  Jen 
had  worn  w^hen  she  disappeared.  A  good  looking 
Yank,  too ;  with  very  pleasant  manners — a  perfect 
gentleman.  Sis  paused  to  recall.  But,  even  her 
romantic  nature  could  not  connect  so  loyal  a  rebel  — 
so  modest  and  sensible  a  woman — as  Jen  Freeman  in 
clandestine  flirtation  with  a  foe  to  her  country  and 
her  race !  So  Sis  thought  so  steadih'  that  unaccus- 
tomed strain  made  her  head  ache;  that  made  her 
seek  solace  in  the  feminine  panacea,  a  flood  of  tears ; 
but  finding  the  solace  lacking  there,  Sis  closed  her 
swollen  eyes  to  think  again — falling  sound  asleep  in 
five  minutes. 

Later  she  silenced  her  father's  query  for  Jen  by  an 
oracular,  but  positive,  reply  that,  "She's  safe  all 
right."     But  her  own  wonder  grew  ;  and  the  doubts 


220  JOHN    HOLDHN.    UNIONIST, 

began  to  grow  with  them.  A  messenger  sent  to 
Freeman  Farm,  the  morning  after  the  battle,  returned 
with  a  verbal  message  that  Jen  was  safe  at  home, 
but  not  3'et  awake  after  her  long  journey  around  the 
lighting  of  the  previous  day.  So  Sis,  still  wondering, 
— still  bravely  fighting  doubts, — resolved  loyally  to 
give  her  friend  all  benefit  of  them,  until  she  had  "a 
good,  long  talk,"  and  that  at  the  earliest  oppor- 
tunity. 

And  Jen  Freeman's  gentle  spirit,  too,  was  racked 
by  doubts  and  forebodings ;  based  on  better  grounds, 
perhaps,  than  those  of  her  friend.  For  the  first  time 
in  her  life,  she  had  a  feeling  unshared  by  her  idolized 
father ;  and,  worse,  a  secret  that  must  be  kept  from 
him,  at  all  hazards.  And,  to  the  truthful  nature, 
evasion  ever  seems  the  suggestion  of  untruth ;  often- 
times forced — by  circumstances  of  its  own  creation — 
to  seek  refuge  behind  a  silence  that  is  but  prevarica- 
tion. And  to  this  girl's  nature — truthful,  frank  and 
open  beyond  most  women's — the  present  need  of 
caution  and  of  watchful  mood  grew  almost  unbear- 
able from  the  first  hour  it  was  recognized.  But  she 
suffered  in  silence,  more  for  her  father's  sake  than  her 
own;  praying  ceaselessly — hoping  almost  against 
hope  and  reason — that  the  unexpected  might  happen, 
and  relieve  her  of  fast-growing  self  contempt. 

Reaching  her  own  gate,  after  the  fight  she  had  led, 
Jen  was  welcomed  by  no  horn-blast ;  for  her  father, 
young  brother  and  everj'- whole  man  on  the  place,  were 
absent.  The  one-legged  veteran  at  the  gate  told  her 
briefly  of  the  morning's  fight,  following  that  of  the 
previous  day  so  close  to  the  farm  ;  and  that  all  hands 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  22  L 

were  in  the  bottom,  hiding  stock  and  meat  from  Con- 
federate stragglers,  or  possible  Federal  victors.  And, 
for  once  in  her  life,  the  girl  felt  deep  relief  at  her 
father's  absence.  It  gave  her  more  time  to  collect  her 
surprised  senses,  and  to  formulate  her  course  ol 
action,  under  new  and  bitter  conditions  now  arisen  ; 
so,  seeking  her  own  room,  she  vainly  tried  to  sleep 
and  rest  from  the  wearing  strain  of  the  two  past 
days.  Exhausted  nature  had  conquered  at  last ;  and 
Jen  was  in  feverish  and  fitful  sleep, when  her  father's 
kiss  aroused  her  suddenh'. 

"God  bless  vou,  my  child  I "  the  farmer  said,  fer- 
ventlv.  "I  thought  you  safe  at  Hartlej-'s ;  but,  since 
Forrest  is  driving  them  that  wa}-,  you  are  better  at 
home.  But  how  in  the  world  did  you  get  back  ? 
I  saw  the  strange  horse  at  the  barn ;  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

Brieflv,  but  with  burning  cheeks,  Jen  narrated  the 
bare  facts  of  her  eager  desire  to  reach  home ;  of  a  stray 
horse,  given  her  by  a  trooper ;  of  her  weariness  and 
need  of  rest,  before  further  details.  The  farmer  kissed 
her — so  tenderly  that  the  girl  turned  away,  sobbing 
with  compunction — as  he  answered : 

"Yes,  my  little  girl.  You  are  worn  out.  Go  to 
sleep  now ;  and,  soon  as  Willie  comes,  I'll  send  word 
to  Hartley.  The^^  must  be  anxious  for  your  safety ; 
but  I  wonder  he  let  you  come  alone,  in  such  danger- 
ous times!  " 

"  He  was  absent  from  home,  papa!  "  Jen  answered 
hastily.  "Please  never  breathe  one  ^vord  to  him 
about  it!  Promise  me,  papa!  and  I  will  write  ta 
Sis  myself! " 


222  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

Of  course  the  farmer  promised ;  Jen  scribbled  a  brief 
line  to  Sis ,  that  she  was  at  home  and  safe ;  and  the 
trusting  parent  sent  the  note. 

She  had  broken  the  ice,  Jen  felt,  but  she  shivered  as 
she  saw  that  the  water  beyond  was  dark  and  strange 
and  of  unknown  depth.  For  two  days,  she  moved 
about  the  house  like  a  guilty  thing,  really  avoiding 
her  father — who,  fortunately,  was  very  bus\'  return- 
ing his  stock  and  stores  from  their  hiding  places. 
She  made  constant  work  for  herself,  striving  to  force 
busy  hands  to  ease  the  too-bus}-  brain ;  and — hating 
herself  the  w^hile — she  fulh^  resolved  that  her  father 
should  never  know.  For, — even  while  his  pride  and 
patriotism  might  condone  the  rash  boldness  of  her 
escapade  with  Forrest, — how  could  she  ever  exj^lain 
the  midnight  jaunt  which  alone  could  excuse  her  pres- 
ence there?  And,  trusting  her  father's  great  love  as 
she  really  did,  something  deep  in  her  heart  shrunk 
from  the  baring  of  itself,  even  to  his  eye ;  and  she 
vainly  strove  to  hide  it  even  from  herself  No!  She 
could  not — would  not  explain!  Papa  must  be  con- 
tent with  what  vague  tale  she  had  told ;  must  trust 
her  still,  through  love,  as  she  felt  he  would. 

But,  through  that  very  love,  the  father's  eyes  grew 
clearer,  and  their  ceaseless,  while  furtive,  watch  of 
his  darling's  face  told  him  that  some  hidden  sorrow 
weighed  upon  her ;  that,  for  the  first  time,  a  secret 
had  risen  between  them.  But  the  tenderness  of  that 
love,  and  the  perfection  of  his  confidence  in  her,  for- 
bade question  as  to  what  was  not  spontaneously 
given  him ;  and  the  farmer  only  shook  his  head  and 
sighed,   as    he    puft'ed    his  evening  pipe  alone  upon 


JOHN    HOLDEX,   UNIONIST.  223 

the  gallery,  while  Jen's  self-imposed  duties  kept  her 
yvithin.  If  his  loyal  affection  caused  suspicion  that 
her  changed  manner,  absent  moodiness  and  evident 
effort  to  be  her  old  self  were  born  of  memory  of  the 
absent  young  soldier,  no  such  hint  ever  escaped  lips 
that  the  sturdy  old  man  coerced  from  barest  allusion 
±o  any  topic,  save  the  few  that  Jen  now  broached  to 
iim,  of  her  own  will. 

Rumor,  whom  the  ancients  pictured  with  a  hundred 
tongues,  should  have  been  limbed  with  quite  as  many 
legs  as  well.  For— now  as  in  those  primitive  days — 
evil  report  runs  with  a  swiftness  that  contradiction 
may  never  overtake ;  and,  once  started  on  its  course, 
willing  tongues  and  attent  ears  aid  its  rapid  route  to 
mischief  and  to  ruin !  Nor  was  the  primitive  neigh- 
iDorhood  of  Freeman  Farm  exempt  from  germs  of  this 
all-pervading  scourge ;  and  now  vague  hints  began 
to  fly  through  its  pure  air;  soon  clinging  to  some 
slender  fiber  of  fact  and  growing  rapidly  in  evil, 
dangerous  bulk. 

It  was  yet  too  early — and  the  pursuit  by  Forrest  of 
his  flying  foe  had  been  too  swift  and  too  far  beyond 
— for  an}^  truth  of  his  girl-guide's  heroism  to  have 
reached  the  quiet  farm.  But  gossips  had  flocked  into 
Gadsden,  eager  for  news  and  ready  to  barter  all  sorts 
and  qualities  of  that  commodity ;  and  Squire  Hart- 
lej^'s  store — the  largest  and  most  popular  there — was 
favorite  '"Change"  for  this  traffic.  And  there, 
already  a  subject  of  frequent  guess  and  query,  was 
the  fact  of  a  young  w^oman's  riding  through  the 
soldier-crowded  roads,  along  with  a  Confederate 
force;  and  country  quid-nuncs  were  all  agog  to  know 


224  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

if  they  were  one  and  the  same  person,  when  at  last 
the  story  of  the  ford — and  of  the  decisive  charge — 
began  to  float  back  from  the  now  triumphant  army^ 
and  to  take  somewhat  the  actual  form  of  truth. 

Cautious,  taciturn,  but  keener  than  ever  in  his 
relentless  and  malignant  hate^ohn  Holden  fanned 
the  rising  flame  of  curious  query  by  chance-dropped 
word  of  his  own;  more  by  grave  hint  and  ugly 
innuendo,  through  such  secret  emissaries  as  he  used — 
either  because  of  their  lo^^alty  to  the  Union,  or  from 
personal  fear  of  himself— to  gather  and  to  carry  the 
more  serious  news  of  his  self-imposed  vocation.  For 
now,  in  the  lull  of  battle — and  while  its  eastern  cur- 
rent had  drawn  away  all  of  his  armed  enemies  and 
well-watched  foes — the  old  man's  venom  rusted  in 
its  sheath,  growing  more  acid  and  eating  out  on  the 
smaller  means  of  harassing  and  hurting  those  placed 
under  his  far  reaching  ban. 

To  what  was  ingrained  principle,  recent  defeat  and 
disappointment  added  personal  spite ;  and — perhaps 
dominating  both — ever  rose  in  his  heart  the  bitter, 
stern  cry  for  vengeance  in  Hank's  name;  the  iteration 
of  that  oath  for  blood  and  ruin  on  them  all,  seared 
into  his  hard  soul,  by  failure  so  far,  only  the  deeper 
and  more  ineffaceable ! 

From  his  disguise  at  Hartley's  gate  the  old  man 
had  watched  White's  interview  with  Sis  ;  had  heard 
his  mention  of  Jen  Freeman's  name;  had  seen  the 
blue  ribbon  and  quickly  recognized — from  rarit}^  of 
such  luxuries  then — the  one  he  had  seen  Jen  divide 
with  her  rebel  lover.  Habit,  rather  than  expected 
usefulness,  had  made  him  note  these  seeming  trifles ; 


JOHN    HOLOEN,    UNIONIST.  225 

but — when  the  rumors  of  a  woman  raider  grew  rife; 
when  the  story  of  the  girl-guide  began  to  float  back 
from  the  army — then  Holden  patched  his  broken  web 
anew;  cementing  it  by  spied-for  certainty  that  the 
girl  had  left  Hartley's  house  mysteriously,  and  had 
ridden  home  alone.  So,  within  a  w^eek  from  Jen's 
disappearance  and  Sis  Hartley's  wild  cries  through 
the  night,  rumor  was  rife  on  the  mountain,  that  the 
farmer's  envied  daughter  had  done  some  terrible 
thing;  but,  "what  it  was  few  took  pains  to  ask — fewer 
still  cared  to  know — as  all  nodded,  and  winked,  and 
hinted  that  it  was  more  hideous  than  any  fact  could 
possibly  have  been.  And  John  Holden's  tireless  hate 
softly  drew  together  the  fibers  of  his  mesh,  ready  to 
catch  the  fair  fame  of  the  girl,  should  it  '"scape 
calumny." 

"I  be  n't  a  saint,  be  I?  Tha's  his  en'mies  an'  mine, 
no  differ!  "  he  growled  to  himself,  as  he  strode  over 
the  Gadsden  pike,  his  head  thrust  forward  and  his 
green  e\^es  glowing  red,  as  he  brooded  on  his  wrongs, 
"I  hezn't  kep'  m'  yoath  ter  full  yit;  but  I  'low  I  will,, 
jes'  ez  sho'  ez  ther  Lord  sets  thar!  Them  ole  Jews; 
had  ther  right,  w'en  tha'  sed,  '  Eye  fur  eye,  tooth  fur 
tooth  an'  blood  fur  blood  ! '  John  Holden  kin  wait ; 
but  he  hain't  shed  ov  his  yoath,  s'  long  ez  tha's 
peaceful  an'  content,  yan  !  " — He  halted,  raising  his 
hand  in  malediction  toward  Freeman  Farm. — "A  nice 
gell !  A  fine  darter  fur  thet  proud  rebel !  ter  be  ridin' 
roun'  th'  critter  camps  an'  spendin'  nights  frum 
home!  I  hed  ter  lie  ter  thet  soljer,  'bout  her  doins' 
afore;  but  I  lied  fur  ther  Lord's  work,  ter  smite  his 
foes !      But,  nex'  time,  ther'  '11  be  no  need  ter  lie,  fur 

35 


226  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

th'  truth  are  wust — wust !  Now  ther  blow  '11  fall  an' 
strike  dad  an'  darter  and  sweet 'art,  all  ter  wunst  I  " 

And,  again  raising  his  hand  with  fanatic  hate,  the 
Unionist  strode  faster  to  the  town,  and  through  it 
to  Hartley's  store.  This  was  w^hat  is  still  known,  in 
Southern  interior  towns,  as  a  "  general  merchandise  " 
store.  Now  furnishing  a  little  of  anything  that 
promises  a  profit — from  a  paper  of  tacks  to  a  j^low ; 
a  paper  collar  to  a  set  of  harness ;  a  single  egg  to  a 
cask  of  bacon;  or  a  sometimes  surreptitious  black 
bottle — the  "general  store"  of  the  w^ar  days,  had 
added  usefulness  of  arms,  ammunition  and  household 
needs,  of  every  variety  possible  to  the  commerce  of 
the  blockade,  or  of  the  country-side.  And,  not  least, 
it  was  the  gathering  place  for  gossips  far  and  near  ; 
especially  those  male  ones,  w^ho — in  primitive  coun- 
try, no  less  than  busy  citj^ — can  give  the  long  odds, 
and  then  win,  from  their  sisters  in  social  sin! 

This  chanced  to  be  a  "field  day"  at  Hartley's  store, 
and  an  unusual  crowd  had  gathered.  Mainly  com- 
posed of  old  men,  disabled  "dischargers"  and 
loutish  youths  under  age,  there  were  also  several 
soldiers  in  gray,  hurt  slightly  in  the  recent  fights  and 
left  to  follow  on  foot,  as  best  they  might,  to  relieve 
the  ambulances  in  forced  march.  And  the  theme  of 
every  tongue  was  the  victory ;  of  course,  not  omitting 
that  mysterious  appearance  of  a  mountain  Jeanne 
d'  Arc,  to  pilot  Forrest. 

"I  swar  ter  grayshus!  et  do  beat  all!"  The 
orator  was  a  florid  and  flabbj'  citizen,  exempt  by 
grace  of  surgeon's  certificate.  "But  thet  air  gell 
cert'ly  did  hev  spunk !" 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  227 

*'She  cert'ly  lied  it,  sho !"  murmured  a  chorus. 

"She  hed  spunk,  sho,"  reiterated  a  soldier,  with  a 
fresh  patch  across  his  cheek.  "Them  bullets  hev 
flew  thick'r'n  guats." 

"I  hez  n't  seed  her,"  confirmed  an  apparently- 
whole  comrade,  squirting  a  dark  stream  of  tobacco 
juice  beyond  the  doorsill,  "but  I  do  'low  she  hed 
spunk!" 

"Pre'ps  she  hev  hed  mo'  ov  spunk  then  she  war 
modis',  Joe,"  a  venerable  old  man  piped.  "Ef  she 
w'ar  layin'  roun'  camps,  I  'low  she  hain't  got  no  dis- 
screshun." 

"It  don'  mek  no  differ,  do  it?"  John  Holden  put 
in,  grimly.  "  Menn\^er  gell  hea'bouts  gits  'long  po'ful 
well  'thout  no  disscreshun." 

* '  Hole  up,  par dner, ' '  the  tall  soldier  retorted.  ' '  En 
Nor'  Klina,  we  'uns  doan' jaw  'gin  our  'oomen!" 

"Naw;  nur  en  Gorgie,  nuther!"  added  a  second. 

"She  helpt  ter  lick  ther  Yanks,  an'  yer  hed  'orter 
shame  ter  'buse  'er!"  added  a  third. 

"Pre'ps  John  Holden  hain't  thenkin'  her  fur  thet," 
piped  the  old  man;  going  with  the  turn  of  the  tide  in 
natural  fashion. 

"I  hez  n't  'bused  'er,  hez  I?"  Holden  answered, 
grimly.  "Ef  I  be  thankin'  er,  don'  mek  no  differ.  I 
'low  mabbe  she  bez  dun  no  mo'  than  other  gells, 
'roun  yere! " 

Grave,  deliberate  and  cool,  the  speaker  dropped  his 
words  slowly — sending  the  four  last  full  at  Hartley, 
as  he  turned  from  nailing  a  box,  hatchet  in  hand. 

"What  in  the  devil  do  you  mean?  "the  squire  asked, 
gruffly.     He  never  had  liked  Holden,  knowing  his 


228  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

Union  sentiments,  and  more  than  half  suspecting  the 
nefarious  use  he  made  of  them  at  times.  "A  man  of 
3'our  age  can  do  better  things  than  slander  his  coun- 
try women! " 

A  growl  of  approving  assent  came  from  the  crowd ; 
but  Holden — not  moving  a  muscle — kept  his  eyes  full 
on  Hartley's  face,  though  he  spoke  to  the  others : 

"I  hez  heer'd  that  a  yung  'ooman,  you  'uns  all 
know,hev  been  a-ridin'  ther  same  critter  ez  a  j-oung 
soljer,  'roun  yere;  an'  thet  'fore  morn  war  broke, 
too." 

A  murmur  of  dissenting  quer\'ran  round  the  group, 
the  tall  soldier  saying  to  his  mate : 

"That  trooper  hed  pie,  sho'.  But  this  yer  ole 
devvle's  tongue's  bitter  'r'n  'simmons  'fore  fross'!" 

"Le'ss  we 'uns  shet  up  his  darn'd  ole  head,  Joe!" 
responded  his  mate,  reaching  for  a  near  axe-helve; 
but  Hartley's  voice  broke  in  angrily: 

"Holden,  you  must  stop  this  kind  o'  talk,  under 
m\' roof !  You've  gone  far  enough.  Damn!  you're 
bad  as  any  old  v^-oman  at  her  dip !  " 

A  grim  twitch — that  was  an\'thing  but  a  smile — 
contorted  the  old  man's  lips,  and  an  ugly,  menacing 
gleam  rose  in  the  e^-es,  still  fixed  on  Hartley.  But, 
for  sole  answer,  he  folded  his  long  arms  across  his 
breast,  strode  out  of  the  store  across  the  road,  to  a 
great  chestnut-oak  standing  there;  and  placed  his 
broad  back  against  it : 

"It  don'  mek  no  differ  whar  ther  truth  ez  spoke,'^ 
he  then  said,  slowly,  deliberately,  but  with  the  evil 
glint  growing  in  his  e^-es.     "An'  tha'  do  say,  Squire 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  229 

Hartley,  thet  yer  own  gell  knows  th^t  ar  yung 
'oonian  well ! " 

"You  lie!  3'oii  venomous  old  traitor!"  the  irate 
father  cried,  rushing  to  the  street  with  the  hatchet 
raised  in  his  hand.  But  some  one  grasped  it  and  the 
crowd  surged  between,  as  he  went  on :  "You deserve 
to  be  killed — Wing  about  women  !  " 

Holden  stood  calm  and  erect,  never  blenching  under 
the  now  hostile  looks  of  them  all,  as  he  answered, 
slowly : 

"Squire  Hartley,  ef  I  be  a-lyin',  axe  A-er  own  dar- 
ter!" 

"You  lie !  I  say,"  Hartley  shouted,  struggling  to  get 
free.  "No  wonder  you  lie  about  w^omen,  you  old 
traitor !  I  believe  you  spy  on  our  army !  You  deserve 
to  be  hung! " 

Again  the  twitch  came  to  Holden's  lips  one  instant; 
the  next  the\'  set  hard  and  sneering  as  he  cried : 

"Hung,  ez  it?  Tha's  'low'd  thet  'afore!  Thet's 
v^ot  ther  sesesh  'lowed  in  therComvenshun  nigh  three 
A'car  gone!  But  John  Holden  hain't  heng  3'it,  hez 
he  ?  Wot  he  sed  then,  he'll  say  no  differ  now !  He'll 
stan'  by  's  word !  " 

"Y^ou  double  traitor!  "  yelled  the  struggling  squire. 
*'  He'd  ought 'er  be  l^-nched  !     Had  n't  he,  boj^s  ?  " 

A  crowed  of  excited  men  is  ever  strangely  sensitive, 
sw^aying  from  one  impulse  to  its  opposite,  often  with- 
out any  cause.  But  now  there  was  cause  enough; 
and  Hartley's  cr}'  lit  to  full  blaze  the  smouldering 
fire,  already  gaining  headway  among  those  half- 
savage  natures. 


230  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST, 

"Lynch  him!"  "The  damned  traitor!"  "Hang 
the  spy !"  echoed  from  them  ;  and — ever  prompt  in 
suiting  ugly  action  to  evil  word — the  mountaineers 
grasped  axe-helve,  gun,  hatchet,  as  was  nearest  at 
hand,  surging  out  into  the  road.  The  soldier,  Joe, 
reaching  his  long  arm  for  a  coil  of  cotton  rope, 
was  coolly  loosing  its  end  as  he  went.  And  still — 
with  back  against  the  tree,  arms  folded  and  his  eyes 
the  only  moving  thing  about  him — John  Holden 
stood  as  quietU'  as  though  at  prayer-meeting. 

"Gie  us  th'  word,  squire,  an'  w^e'll  hist  him,  quick- 
er'n  wink  !  "  Joe  said,  in  business-like  w^a}^  and  eject- 
ing another  flood  of  tobacco-juice. 

"Kill  the  spy!  "—"Hang  him!"— "Come,  boys!" 
growded  the  crowd,  moving  to  mid-road,  ready  for  a 
rush.  And  still  Holden  stood  motionless ;  but  now 
he  spoke  in  deep,  deliberate  voice,  but  vibrant  with 
contempt : 

"  Gie  th'  wurd.  Bill  Hartley— ef  yer'  dar !  Liff  han' 
ter  tech  John  Holden,  ef  yer  hez  ther  spunk,  ye^ 
barkin'  cur-dogs !  Like  he  do  be  ole,  but  he  haint 
a-fearin'  ther  hull  of  sech  ez  3'ou  'uns !  He  kin  'low 
ther's  spunk  en  ther  rebels  wot  fights  ter  ther  frunt ! 
But  he  jes'  spits  on  sech  ez  hangs  'hind,  an'  sicks  'em 
on!"  He  raised  his  hand  high  above  his  head;  no 
menace,  only  full  conviction  in  the  gesture,  as  he 
added:  "John  Holden  laffs  at  you  'uns!  He's  in 
ther  han'  ov  ther  Lord !  " 

An  ugly  growl,  rising  into  a  fierce  yell,  ran  along 
the  crowed,  as  Hartley  broke  through  and  headed  the 
now  blood-hungry  crew.  But,  just  as  it  crouched  for 
fatal  spring  upon  the  quarry,  hoofs  beat  the  road- 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  231 

way  and  a  galloping  horse  dashed  into  the  space 
between. 

' '  Halt !  Stand  ready,  men !  Drop  your  hands,  you 
cowardly  skulkers !  "  rang  the  voice  of  habitual  com- 
mand. And  the  rider  threw  his  horse  almost  on  his 
haunches,  as  the  ready  revolver  clicked,  in  the  sudden 
stillness. 

With  the  instinct  of  discipline,  the  soldiers — \vhole 
men  and  crippled  alike — dropped  hands  and  stood  at 
"attention!"  And  the  civilians — following  example 
of  the  flabby  exempt — essayed  to  slip  back  into  the 
store.     But  they  halted  at  the  order: 

"Steady!  As  you  w^ere,  till  I  find  the  cause  of  this 
disturbance." 

"Cause  enough,  soldier!"  gruffly  answered 
Hartley,  the  only  one  who  stood  his  ground. 
"  Defaming  our  women,  by  that  spy  there !  Who  are 
you,  anywa}^  ordering  us  'round?" 

"Captain  Beverly  Latham,  of  General  Forrest's 
staff,  sent  to  the  rear  to  hurry  up  all  stragglers," 
was  the  airy  reply.  "It  seems  I  am  fortunate,  here. 
Men,  move  to  your  commands  at  once !  The  one 
who  is  in  town  to-night,  without  surgeon's  certifi- 
cate, will  answer  for  it !  Now,  Mr.  Storekeeper,  what 
are  3'our  proofs  against  this  spy?  Where  is  he?" 
He  turned  in  saddle  as  he  spoke,  and  a  low  whistle  of 
surprise  escaped  his  lips,  ere  they  added  lightly : 
"You?  mj^  venerable  Arab!  By  Jove!  the  Yanks 
pick  old  ones  for  such  active  service!  Why,  man, 
your  neighbors  seem  to  relish  your  Union  preaching 
less  than  I  did.  But,  I  was  in  time,  luckily."  He 
turned  to   Hartley,  with  changed  manner:     "Well, 


232  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

sir,  have  you  an^^  specific  charges  against  this  man, 
Holden?    Any  proofs  that  he  is  a  spy  ?" 

A  grumbling  assent  came  from  the  civihans, 
already  deserted  by  the  soldier  element ;  but  Hartley 
— once  more  himself,  and  rather  ashamed  of  his  ugly 
situation — answered  that  there  was  no  proof;  and 
no  charge,  further  than  the  man's  openly  avowed 
Union  sentiments. 

"  I  scarcely  think  the  general  would  approve  your 
hanginga  non-combatant  for  that,"LathaiTi  replied. 

"But, captain, he  villified our  wives  and  daughters ; 
some  of  them,  I  believe,  known  to  j^ou,"  Hartley 
urged  in  extenuation. 

If  Latham  caught  the  hint,  he  showed  not  sign, 
even  to  the  watchful  eye  of  Holden,  eagerly  noting 
the  words  of  one  of  his  enemies  to  the  other.  He 
only  turned,  saying  lightly : 

"That  is  most  ungallant,  Mr.  Holden,  even  for  a 
man  of  your  years.  I  believe  I  have  saved  your 
precious  neck  a  stretching  this  time ;  so  we're  quits 
on  the  salt  question,  till — next  time!  So,  you'd  bet- 
ter pack  off  home,  before  I  recall  your  bad  marks- 
manship, a  certain  night  not  long  ago !  "  He  turned 
to  the  others;  the  smile  dying  on  lips,  that  set  in 
stern  command:  "For  the  rest  of  you,  sta^'-at- 
homes, — remember!  We'll  do  the  fighting  for  3'ou; 
but  General  Forrest  can  take  care  of  his  rear,  and  hold 
his  own  courts-martial.  Another  disgraceful  scene 
like  this  may  be  bad  for  your  town.  You  are  Mr. 
Bill  Hartley'?  Verv  well;  you  seem  to  lead  these 
men.  The  general  will  hold  you  responsible  for  their 
future  conduct ! " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  233 

He  dropped  his  pistol  back  in  holster;  gathered 
his  horse  and  trotted  away;  twirling  his  mustache 
with  his  freed  hand.  And  Holden — never  moving 
from  the  tree,  seemed  to  forget  more  recent  and  dan- 
gerous foes ;  his  stare  riveted  on  the  young  officer 
from  his  first  word — turned  his  face  to  follow  him ; 

And  his  eyes  had  aU  the  seeming 
Of  a  demon's  that  is  dreaming, 

as  their  red  glow  deepened  under  the  blast  of  a  hate, 
only  hotter  for  dela}^  in  the  ordained  accomplish- 
ment of  its  undying  purpose.  Still  standing,  lone 
and  motionless,  after  the  crowd  had  scattered  and 
disappeared,  John  Holden  seemed  suddenly  to  awake, 
with  a  start.  Then,  taking  a  deep  breath,  he  strode 
slowlv  awav,  not  casting  one  glance  at  the  lair  of  his 
late  assailants.  But  his  head  was  bent  forward  and 
his  lips  were  forming  the  words: 

"His  time  hez  not  yit  cum;  but  it'ull  cum,  sho'.  I 
hed  rether'r  a-resked  'em  all,  than  ter  hed  'em  'fear'd 
'long  ov  him!  But,  I'll  pay  him  fur  this  too,  wen  his 
time  shell  cum;  fur  he  ar' in  ther  han's  ov  ther 
Lord, — an'  He  hev  heer'd  my  yoath  !  " 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"WOMAN    AND    GIRL. 

"You  grand,  brave,  misunderstood  dear!  I'll  stand 
up  for  you,  if  the  whole  world  turned  against  us! 
But,  you're  right,  Jen  ;  you  canH  tell  your  popper!  '^ 

And  with  these  staunch,  but  somewhat  conflicting 
words.  Sis  Hartley  threw  her  arms  about  her  friend 
and  gave  her  a  genuine,  old-fashioned  hug.  The  two 
girls  were  closeted  in  Jen  Freeman's  room,  the  morning 
succeeding  the  baffled  attempt  at  lynching;  Miss 
Hartley's  advent  having  been  preceded  by  a  brief, 
but  alarming  note,  the  evening  previous.  The 
farmer  had  ridden  away,  happily  thus  giving  no 
cause  for  entangling  explanations ;  and,  promptly 
led  into  Jen's  own  apartment,  Sis  had  said,  bluntly: 

"Guess you  know,  Jen,  that  folks  are  mighty  busy 
talking  about  us,  don't  you?" 

"Not  about  you.  Sis;  but  I  fear  they  are  talking 
somewhat  about  me." 

"Somewhat  ?  Well,  a  little !"  Sis  replied,  with  fine 
irony.  "But  I  just  tell  3'ou,  Jen,  that  I  don't  know 
what  you've  really  done,  but  I'm  just  sure  you  had 
good  reason  for  it."- 

"Thank  you,  Sis,  I  believe  I  had,"  Jen  answered, 

234 


JOHN    HOLDEX,    UNIONIST.  235 

quietly;  but  Her  eves  grew  moist  as  she  leaned  over 
a.nd  kissed  her  friend  gratefully. 

"Well,  I've  got  lots  to  tell  you,"  Sis  went  on,  hur- 
rying over  her  unpleasant,  but  self-imposed  duty. 
"And  I've  some  things  to  ask  you,  which  you  can 
answer  or  let  alone,  as  you  please." 

"Go  on,"  Jen  answered,  rather  faintly. 

"Well,  dear,  you  must  know  that  some  nasty  busy- 
body— though  I  can't  for  the  life  of  me  see  why  you 
should  have  an  enemy  in  all  the  world — has  been 
spreading  reports  to  hurt  your  reputation !  " 

"My  reputation!"  Jen  started  up  with  cheeks 
aflame. 

Sis  nodded,  decisively:  "But  don't  worry,  Jen! 
I'll  stand  by  3'ou.  I  don't  want  to  hurt  you,  dear, 
but  it's  best  you  should  know.    Isn't  it?" 

"Go  on,  I  trust  you,  Sis!"  Jen  sat  down  on  the 
little  white  bed  again,  slipping  her  hand  into  the 
other  girl's.  "You  will  believe  me,  when  I  say  I 
have  done  nothing  that  would  justify — that!  " 

"I  believe  you,  Jen,  dear!  But  two  heads  are 
better  than  one,"  the  other  answered;  and  she  went 
on — "not  wisely  but  too  well,"  perhaps — to  detail 
the  strange,  vague  talk,  the  condensation  of  vapory 
hints  into  solid  report ;  and  the  culmination  of  the 
previous  day  at  her  father's  store;  finishing  with  the 
urgence : 

"Now,  dear  girl,  tell  me  that  there  is  not  one  word 
of  truth  in  the  whole  thing ! ' ' 

"How  can  I?"  Jen  cried,  turning  away.  "And  if 
I  did — how  could  I  be  sure  that  even    you  would 


236  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

believe  me — that  anyone  else  would  trust  me  one 
instant?" 

"I've  said  I  would,  Jen,"  Miss  Hartley  replied 
loyally,  but  illogically.  "  The  rest  of  the  world  can 
go  hang  itself!  " 

"Well,  Sis,  you  have  the  right  to  know,"  Jen 
answered,  bravely.  "I  have  been  imprudent— by 
circumstances  I  could  not  control  placed  in  false  posi- 
tion. Listen,  and  then  tell  me  franklv  if  you  would 
have  acted  differently,"  and  Jen  went  on,  detailing 
her  whole  adventure,  from  the  visit  of  Lize  Holden; 
but  reserving  all  mention  of  anj^  feeling  but  friend- 
ship between  herself  and  Latham.  Sis  hstened,  with 
only  brief  ejaculations  of  surprise  and  admiration  ; 
but  at  the  end  of  the  recital  she  kissed  Jen  with  a 
loud  smack,  her  face  glowing  with  enthusiasm  as 
she  cried : 

"Lor!  Jen,  what  a  heroine  you  are,  though! 
"Wouldn't  I  give  just  lots  to  have  done  all  that !  " 

"But  think  of  the  result,  Sis!  Even  could  I  tell 
this  story  of  bold,  unwomanh^  adventure,  how  could 
I  excuse  it  ?  And,  even  then,  would  people  believe  it ! 
And,  Oh!  Sis,  I  don't  mind  all  the  rest,  but  I  dare 
not  tell  even  papa !  " 

The  glow  faded  from  Sis  Hartley's  prett\'  face;  and 
she  shook  her  head  sadly : 

"No;  you  daren't  tell  him.  Poppers  are  mightv 
good  to  us,  Jen ;  but  sometimes  it 's  so  hard  to  make 
'em  understand !  But  cheer  up,  girl ;  maybe  this  talk 
will  all  die  away  before  he  ever  hears  any  of  it." 

"I  fear  he  has  had  hints  of  it  already,"  Jen 
answered,  ruefullv.     "  Good  and  generous  as  he  is,  he 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  237 

has  never  asked  any  explanation  of  my  strange 
return;  but  sometimes  I  can  just  /ec/  his  eyes  fixed 
on  me  so  sadly — so  reproachfidly !  " 

"There's  one  person  can  prove  it,  Jen!"  Sis  cried 
suddenh',  clapping  her  hands.  "Lize  Holden!  and  I 
saw  her  coming  back,  myself,  that  very  dawn." 

"She  dare  not!  She  has  sworn  against  Mr. 
Latham,"  Jen  objected;  "and  besides,  she  knows 
that  vile  old  creature,  Holden,  would  murder  her." 

"Guess  you're  right,"  Sis  answered, musing.  "And 
the  Yankee  captain  was  captured  and  sent — " 

"Yankee  captain!  How  could  he  know?"  Jen 
broke  in,  wide-eyed.    • 

"He  found  your  ribbon,  Jen  ;  stopped  b}'  my  gate^ 
after  you  dodged  them,  and  pretended  he  wanted  a 
drink.  But  he  stopped  to  show  me  that  ribbon  and 
to  ask  where  you  were." 

Jen  was  wholly  mystified.  How  could  the  pursu- 
ing oflicer  have  known  to  whom  the  lost  ribbon 
belonged?  Who  could  have  told  him  her  name?  Not 
Lize,  surely ;  for  that  poor  creature,  as  Sis  told  her, 
had  fled  from  him.  Suddenh'  the  memory  that  John 
Holden  led  them,  coupled  with  the  talk  that  nearly 
cost  his  life,  pointed  to  him ;  but  how  could  that 
grim  old  man  have  guessed  ?  No :  it  was  mystery 
impenetrable ;  but  she  asked : 

"What  was  the  Yankee  captain's  name?  " 

"Jen  PVeeman,  you'll  lose  all  respect  for  me,  I'm 
sure  I  "  Sis  Hartley  responded,  solemnly.  "  But,  good 
looking  as  he  was — a  perfect  gentleman,  too,  I  was 
too  surprised  and  too  mad  to  find  out  his  name! 
But" — this  suddenly — "what  stupids  we  both  are. 


238  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

There's  no  trouble  about  proof!  How  silly,  I'm 
sure!"  And  the  girl's  musical  laugh  rang  out 
clearly. 

"Who  can  j)rove  it  ?  "  Jen  queried,  eagerly. 

"Latham!  He's  the  fellow  got  you  in  the  scrape. 
He's  a  poor  goat  if  he  can't  get  you  out  by  one  word. 
Then  when  General  Forrest — " 

"Hush!  Not  so  loud!"  Jen  cried."  "Iwouldnot 
have  papa — no ;  nor  anyone — know  that  I  was  that 
bold,  unmaidenly  thing,  who  rode  in  the  charge  with 
men !  I  made  the  general  promise  to  kee]3  my  name 
a  secret ;  and  he  shall,  Sis  !  " 

The  other  girl  stared  blankly,  at  this  avowal  of 
voluntary  hiding  from  fame.    She  only  faltered : 

"Why  in  the  world?" 

"Why  ?  Can  you  not  see  ?  If  papa  knew,  he  would 
have  to  know  how  I  came  there — why  I  left  your 
house!  Papa  is  proud  of  me,  Sis;  he  must  not 
become  ashamed  of  me!  " 

"But,  Jen,  Mr.  Latham  himself  can — " 

"He  is  far  awa3%  too,"  Jen  broke  in  nervously. 

"Far  away  ?  What  a  stupid  I  am !  "  Miss  Hartley 
replied.  "Jen,  in  all  my  haste,  I  forgot  to  say  that 
the  officer  who  stopped  the  lynching  was  Mr. 
Latham  himself! " 

"Mr,  Latham!  He  in  Gadsden  and  not —  Did 
he  hear  all  this  of  me  ?  Oh  !  Sis,  I  cannot  bear  this 
slander !  "  Her  cheeks,  brow  and  neck  were  all  swept 
by  the  crimson  flood  of  feeling,  or  of  shame;  but  her 
eyes  would  not  meet  the  searching  gaze  that  queried 
them.    But  Sis  Hartley  rose  and  went  to  her  gently, 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  239 

taking  both  the  unwilling  hands  in  hers,  as  she 
soothed : 

"It's  all  new  to  jou,  Jen.  You've  never  had  it 
before.  But  I  have,  dear— often !  You  won't  mind, 
after  awhile.    Jen,  you  love  that  man !  " 

"I  do  not  !"  Jen  cried,  tearing  aw^ayher  hands  and 
going  to  the  window.  "I  tell  you,  Sis  Hartley-— I  do 
not  even  like  him !  " 

Sis  stared.  Then  she  sat  on  the  bed  again,  sigh- 
ing. "Then  I  don't  know  the  signs,  I  guess,"  she 
said.     "But  I  suppose  I  must  be  wrong." 

"You  certainly  are  wrong !"  Jen  turned  and  faced 
her  calmlv ;  her  cheeks  quite  pale  now.  "I  not  only 
do  not  love  him ;  but  I  do  not  feel  that  I  would  ask  a 
courtesy — far  less  a  favor — at  his  hands.  I  should 
lack  self-respect  if  I  did !" 

And,  in  the  depths  of  her  own  heart,  the  pure, 
untried  girl  felt  that  she  spoke  nothing  but  the  truth; 
even  though  she  did  not  speak  all  the  truth.  For,  in 
her  secret  brooding  over  her  troubles,  she  had  lived 
over  a  hundred  times  the  w^hole  intercourse  between 
the  soldier  and  herself.  She  had  over  and  again 
held  before  her  strong  common  sense,  the  wide  differ- 
ences of  family,  of  association  and  of  taste  that 
separated  them.  And  these,  having  caused  her  first 
conquest  of  her  own  heart,  in  its  early  rebellion 
against  her  pride,  seemed  doubly  cogent  now.  When 
the  pebble  had  first  dropped  into  his,  causing  it  to 
overflow  and  its  secret  to  spill  on  the  ground,  like 
w^ater — she  had  stopped  him  honestly.  She  liked  him 
well, — ^too  well,  perhaps  she  felt ;  but  she  did  not  love 
him,  as  a  pure  woman  must  love,  for  the  first  time, 


240  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

before  confessing  it  to  herself.  When  he  spoke  once 
more  at  parting,  there  rose  between  them  a  great 
gulf  of  convenance,  peopled  with  strange  shapes 
and  brilliant  forms,  all  unknown  to  her;  and  the 
healthy  common  sense  had  once  more  stifled  the 
infant  Hercules  of  feeling.  Then — while  Latham  was 
doing  his  best  to  win  a  name  at  the  crossing,  think- 
ing only  of  her  and  of  duty— Jen  wrestled  bravely 
with  the  baby  giant  in  her  heart,  daily  growing 
greater,  yet  only  half-recognized.  But  when  she 
walked  through  the  midnight  rain — when  she  hesi- 
tated not  to  cast  aside  reserve,  habit,  even  delicacy, 
to  save  him  from  ignominious  death,  the  girl  failed 
to  convince  herself  that  she  would  have  done  as 
much  for  any  other  hero  who  wore  the  gray.  When 
she  rested  in  his  arms  that  one  instant — even  before 
she  was  so  tenderh^  raised  to  the  horse  he  led, 
Jen  Freeman  knew  that  she  loved  this  man.  And, 
knowing  it,  she  felt  that  she  had  not  only  sent  him 
from  her  forever,  but  that  she  had  been  wise — that 
she  had  been  true  to  herself  and  to  him — in  doing 
that.  But  Hercules — falsely  called  Cupid  though  he 
sometimes  be — was  stronger  than  this  simple  girl; 
and  w^hen  they  rode  side  by  side  into  the  jaws  of 
death ;  when  his  coolness  and  strength  bore  her  to 
safety — then,  in  that  wooded  covert,  Jen  Freeman 
could  have  fallen  at  his  feet  and  worshiped  him,  as 
next  to  her  God ! 

In  her  heart  of  hearts  she  felt  this;  nor  did  she 
blush  to  feel  it.  Pure  love  is  ever  brave  enough  to 
stand  the  light  of  conscience ;  ever  brave  enough  ta 
bear  the  brunt  of  sacrifice.    And,  at  the  very  moment 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  ■  241 

of  confession  to  herself,  came  new  resolve  to  keep  the 
faith  she  had  plighted,  equally  to  her  own  self- 
respect,  as  to  what  she  knew  must  be  the  future 
happiness  of  both.  Then,  at  their  final  parting, 
Avhen  he  so  pleaded  for  hope ;  when  her  own  heart 
joined  his  in  urgence,  until  she  almost  wavered  in  her 
truth  to  both, — then  a  chance  word  had  steeled  her 
resolution  and  recalled  that  she  was,  in  very  fact, 
"so  different "  from  those  he  had  known  and  had 
loved  before. 

But  woman's  heart  is  ever  a  riddle,  ten  thousand 
times  offered  every  day,  yet  still  insoluble  as  that 
of  the  Sphinx.  And  Jen  Freeman — strong,  brave  and 
proud  as  she  believed  herself,  and  not  without  good 
cause — 3'et  felt  shocked,  aggrieved  and  frozen  by  his 
acceptance  of  her  fiat.  With  his  curt  farewell — the 
failure  to  touch  her  hand — the  cold  "Good-day,  Miss 
Freeman!" — came  revulsion  as  sudden  as  severe  1 
With  no  analysis  of  what  she  felt,  Jen  was  shocked 
and  hurt  beyond  comprehension.  To  herself  she 
groaned  that  the  man  had  played  upon  her,  winning 
her  love  for  sport,  as  did  those  in  his  "so  different "^ 
world ;  and  then  and  there  she  swore — sick,  dizzy  and 
cruelly  wounded  as  she  was ! — that  she  would  tear 
him  from  her  heart,  if  it  broke  in  the  effort !  And 
she  rode  home  dazed ;  crept  to  her  chamber  full  of 
other  sorrow,  she  believed,  and  not  realizing  that 
this  greatest  one  it  was,  which  so  numbed  and  para- 
lyzed her  efforts  to  be  herself  once  more.  Then  came 
those  long  and  heavy  days  of  doubt  and  secrecy  and 
insincerity ;  and  last  those  creeping  rumors — coming 

16 


242  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

as  the  wind  comes,   and    felt  rather  than  heard — 
which  brimmed  the  bitter  cup  to  very  overflowing. 

And  so — alone,  unaided  and  untaught — this  child 
wrestled  secretly  with  Hercules ;  realizing  now  the 
giant  strength,  yet  praying  and  believing  she  might 
conquer  still ! 

Bitter,  cruel  as  it  was,  Jen  Freeman  hugged  to  her 
heart  the  belief  that  her  love  had  been  won  only  in 
sport;  and  in  her  hidden  agony,  she  moaned  that  loss 
of  self-respect — her  bold  adventure,  now  looked  back 
■upon  with  loathing — estrangement  from  her  doting 
father — the  detestable  double-face  she  was  forced  to 
wear — that  these,  one  and  all,  were  Latham's  work; 
and  his  work  only  for  a  petty  triumph  which  she 
must  despise — which  she  devoutly  thanked  her  God 
she  had  never  let  him  see,  even  at  the  end. 

She  had  lost  respect  for  this  man  she  had  so  pedes- 
talled  above  his  fellows,  she  knew ;  and  she  convinced 
herself  of  that  sad  fallacy — so  swiftly  accepted, 
often  to  one's  sorrow — that  with  respect  all  love 
must  die ! 

All  this  Jen  had  lived  over  every  day,  almost  every 
hour,  of  that  dreadful  week  since  Latham  had 
spurred  away  with  that  curt  farewell.  And  all  this 
she  lived  over  when  her  friend  spoke;  believing  in 
her  very  soul  that  her  reply  was  gospel  truth.  But 
its  living  took  no  tithe  of  the  time  to  tell  it ;  and  Sis 
Hartley — with  her  best  prop  knocked  ruthlessly 
away — could  onl}^  stare  and  murmur: 

"Well!  I  do  declare!" 
But  the  two  girls  talked  long  and  fully  over  the 
"Ugly  situation ;  Sis   vowing  loyally  to  stand  by  her 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  243 

friend— to  fight  calumny  to  the  death,  though  reft  of 
sword  and  buckler  both,  and  to  keep  her  friend's 
secret,  come  what  might.  And,  as  she  mounted  her 
horse,  and  Jen  kissed  her  clingingly,  loth  to  part 
with  her  one  comforter,  Sis  cried,  with  strangely 
mixed  emotions : 

"  I  do  hate  to  leave  you  in  your  sorrow,  Jen !  But 
— gracious,  girl !  you  are  a  heroine,  though !  God  help 
and  keep  j'ou,  dear!  " 

*  rr  *  *  *  *  * 

It  was  to  a  rather  distant  settlement  that  Farmer 
Freeman  rode  that  day,  while  the  two  girls  discussed 
Jen's  troubles.  Homeward  bound,  he  stopped  at  the 
house  of  an  humble  family  whom  he  had  long 
befriended.  The  widow  had  two  daughters ;  one  of 
them  a  notably  giddy  girl,  even  in  that  not  precise 
and  decorous  region;  and — to  her  mother's  plaint 
about  some  recent  escapade,  more  outrageous  than 
usual — the  farmer  ventured  on  some  mild  reproach. 
In  reply,  the  girl  turned  upon  him  insolently,  wath 
the  words ; 

"  Yer  hed  n't  need  ter  cum  so  fur,  farmer,  hed  yer  ?  I 
'low  ez  I  hain't  been  seen  a-ridin'  roun'  o'  nights 
'long  o'  soljers  —  nur  on  ther  same  critter,  nuther! 
Ax  yer  own  gell,  ef  she  be  n't  no  better 'n  I  be !  " 

Shocked  more  than  angered,  at  this  new  and  hid- 
eous phase  of  rumors  he  had  feared — rather  than 
heard  direct — Mr.  Freeman  sternly  questioned  the 
girl.  So  did  her  mother;  but  both  in  vain.  She 
stolidly  refused  reply  to  question  or  to  threat;  cov- 
ering her  head  with  her  skirt,  rocking  to  and  fro,  and 
sobbing  loudly;  a  favorite    refuge  with    mountain 


244  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

femininity,  when  closely  pressed  by  inconYenient 
question. 

So  the  saddened  father  rode  home  in  deep  and 
troubled  thought.  Never  once  did  faintest  doubt  of 
his  darling  cross  his  mind ;  but  these  rumors  must 
have  some  foundation,  however  trifling  in  fact. 
They  must  be  stopped,  if  practicable,  without  appar- 
ent effort ;  but  he  felt  that  Jen  would  not  speak  of 
what  was  plainly  weighing  on  her  mind.  And,  to 
his  delicate  love  and  trust,  it  seemed  that  not  to 
wait  her  voluntary  confidence — delay  it  as  she  might 
— would  imply  suspicion  foreign  to  all  their  past, 
wrongful  now  in  her  hidden  sorrow. 

Jen  met  him  at  the  gate,  tarrying  to  \vatch  for  him 
after  Sis  rode  off;  and  she  thought  his  face  was 
sadder — while  his  kiss  was  even  more  tender — than  at 
an}^  moment  since  the  "cloud  had  come  down" 
between  them. 

"Papa,  dear,"  she  said,  stealing  behind  his  chair, 
as  he  smoked  alone  that  night,  and  pressing  her  lips 
on  his  forehead;  "dear,  gentle  papa,  you  have 
heard  something  said  about  ^^our  little  girl !  " 

The  farmer  removed  his  pipe  from  his  lips ;  and 
something  very  like  a  sob  followed  it.  But  Jen  came 
round  in  front  of  him,  taking  both  his  hands  in  hers, 
and  looked  full  in  his  eyes. 

"Answer,  dear,  dear  papa.  I  am  not  afraid  for 
you  to  speak." 

"  Damn  their  talk  !  "  the  farmer  blurted  out.  "I 
haven't  heard  anything,  my  child!  And  I  don't 
believe  one  word  of  it,  either !  " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  245 

"I  know  that,  papa,"  Jen  answered,  more  like  her 
old  self.  "But,  dear,  I  w^ant  to  say  just  one  thing. 
Whatever  you  have  heard — whatever  you  may  hear, 
your  daughter  has  never  done  one  thing  of  which 
you  need  feel  ashamed.  No ;  do  n't  answer  me,  dear 
papa.  We  understand  each  other  now,  and  soon  I 
may  tell  you — everything!  " 

From  that  night,  father  and  daughter  were  always 
together,  and  much  in  the  same  old  wa\\  Ever 
watchful  for  the  other's  lightest  wish,  each  avoided 
naturally  any  allusion  to  the  recent  past ;  and  if— 
deep  in  his  secret  heart — the  father  suspected  that  the 
absent  officer  had  some  connection  with  the  gentle 
sadness  his  child  could  not  conceal,  his  absolute  trust 
and  intuitive  delicacy  forebore  even  mental  query 
further.  She  had  said  she  w^ould  speak — sometime. 
He  could  wait,  and  trust,  meantime. 

So  the  sweet  old  life  might  have  come  back  wholly, 
had  each  not  known — and,  knowing,  wondered  if  the 
other  also  knew — that  secret  enemies  were  still  at 
work,  to  mar  a  perfect  peace  they  could  not  compre- 
hend. 

And  so  the  wrecks  wore  away;  months  passed,  and 
the  unuttered  compact  between  father  and  daughter 
was  unbroken,  as  though  engrossed  on  parchment 
and  sealed  with  gravest  signet.  The  tide  of  w^ar  had 
rolled  far  away  from  their  home;  onh'  its  distant 
boom  and — now  more  rareU' — its  broken  and  shat- 
tered human  w^recks — reached  the  hidden  mountain 
nooks.    But  that  warfare — 

The  viler  as  underhand,  not  openly,  bearing  the  sword — 


246  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

Mvas  still  waged  with  the  deadU'  missiles  of  hint  and 
sneer,  and  wink,  and  nod  of  head,  when  the  farm 
folks  chanced  to  be  the  theme  of  better  class  neigh- 
bors. And,  little  by  little,  Jen  grew  paler  and  thinner 
in  body,  nervous  in  mind  and  morbid  in  spirit.  She 
"was  fighting  her  good  fight  bravely,  with  what 
means  she  had ;  but,  like  her  beloved  Southland,  she 
was  fighting  single  handed,  shut  in  from  commujiica- 
tion  with  her  only  sympathizer  and  possible  ally,  and 
hemmed  by  unseen  foes  whose  numbers  she  could 
only  guess  by  their  seeming  omnipresence. 

And  Farmer  Freeman,  noting  the  fading  spirits 
and  the  paling  cheek,  raged  in  his  secret  soul  and 
longed  with  a  fierce  longing  for  some  tangible  affront 
from  man  or  woman.  But  only  the  nebulous,  misty 
vapor  of  evil  report  seemed  to  float  as  thistle-down, 
toward  them,  making  the  petty  martyrdom  of  gnat- 
stings  far  less  bearable  than,  had  been  the  open  trial 
of  the  stake.   And  then  one  da\'  a  letter  came. 

Army  experts  had  been  testing  mineral  deposits  on 
outlying  tracts  of  Farmer  Freeman's  land ;  and  he 
was  summoned  to  Richmond  for  immediate  conference, 
and  offered  control  of  works  the  Ordnance  Depart- 
ment would  at  once  erect.  The  ofler,  to  the  farmer's 
patriotic  sense,  bore  full  force  of  a  mandate;  but  the 
works  were  far  awaj'  from  home  and  Jen  could  not 
be  left  alone.  Conference  between  the  two  confirmed 
his  idea  that  he  could  not  refuse;  and  Jen — ruefully 
but  bravely,  and  with  conflicting  feelings  she  could 
not  analyze — consented  to  accept,  at  last,  her  aunt's 
•urgence  and  go  to  Wilmington.  But  as  3'et  she 
would  not  consent  to  any  proposition  for  breaking 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  247 

the  blockade,  on  one  of  her  uncle's  swift  little  "ocean 
grayhounds;  "  and  she  was  sincere  in  the  belief  that 
her  tear-dimmed  eyes  were  taking  but  temporary 
farewell  of  "life-long  souvenirs  of  the  only  place  she 
could  ever  call  home,  that  last  night  she  was  to  sleep 
beneath  the  loved  and  venerated  roof. 

To  father  and  to  daughter  both,  had  come  the 
thought  that  movement — however  necessary  now, 
however  long  delayed — might  seem  flight  from  the 
intangible  enmity  that  had  followed  them  so  long. 
But  the  thought  remained  unspoken;  each  deemingit 
injustice  to  the  other's  faith  and  truth  to  believe  that 
it  could  have  come  to  the  other.  And,  kneeling  by 
the  little  bed,  in  that  sweet  little  room,  which  had 
been  her  world,  Jen  Freeman  poured  out  her  full  heart 
at  the  feet  of  the  One  Consoler;  praying  with  the 
strength  of  her  pure  soul  for  guidance  and  for  light; 
praying  too  for  full  forgiveness  of  him  who  was — as 
she  believed — the  cause  of  all  her  sorrows;  whom  she 
acknowledged  only  to  the  All-Knowing  that  she  still 
loved ! 


CHAPTER  XX. 

RECONSTRUCTION   DAYS. 

The  night  of  actual  and  of  open  warfare  was  done, 
and  the  gray  dawn  of  a  misnamed  peace  had  risen 
over  the  East.  Fighting,  in  the  field,  between  the 
brethren  of  the  states  was  over  forever;  and  "Recon- 
struction" had  well  begun  its  slow  and  wearying 
process  of  pulling  down  v^hat  little  still  stood  in  the 
conquered  section. 

No  more  did  tales  of  siege  and  battle  light  the  col- 
umns of  the  dulled  newspapers ;  and  already  men 
famed  for  generalship  began  erasure  of  their  glow- 
ing records,  by  fatal  movements  on  that  more  danger- 
ous field  of  statecraft. 

The  one  shot — more  fatal  to  the  welfare  of  the 
entire  country  than  had  been  all  the  volleys  of  Gettys- 
burg and  Appomattox — had  sped  from  the  pistol  of 
the  dramatic  madman ;  and  its  echo  had  sounded  on 
the  northernmost  boundaries  of  the  republic,  reviving 
the  bitterest  feelings  of  flagrant  war  on  the  very 
threshold  of  the  miscalled  Peace !  The  universal  surge 
of  a  nation's  grief  had  subsided  to  the  restless 
groundswell  of  a  sullen  sorrow,  that  upbore  the 
debris  of  a  lately  found  quiet. 

248 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  2*& 

Abraham  Lincoln  was  dead;  and  with  him  had 
been  buried  the  last  hope  of  just  and  speedy  settle- 
ment of  existent  dangers,  through  his  methods  of 
vigorous  honesty  in  statecraft.  For  people  dwelling 
far  remote  from  fields  of  actual  conflict— with  all  its 
trials,  hardships  and  compensations  of  excitement- 
had  already  been  embittered  by  long  doubt  and  mis- 
information. And  these— absolutely  ignorant  of  the 
nature  of  the  Southern  people,  and  of  the  temper  of 
their  leaders — were  quick  to  accept  wild  theories  of  a 
far-reaching  conspiracy,  bom  in  the  distorted  womb 
of  sensation,  and  to  connect  with  it  names  of  the 
best  and  purest  among  the  vanquished  contestants. 

Swift  Vengeance — following  fullest  investigation, 
yet  reaching  her  iron  hand  even  about  the  throat  of 
innocent  womanhood,  for  judicial  murder — had  not 
allayed  popular  distrust;  and,  at  the  nation's  capital, 
men  still  looked  upon  one  another  with  furtive  eyes, 
believing  "Treason"  ready  to  raise  her  "^a  ira!"  at 
any  moment,  and  whirl  her  mad  Carmagnole  up  the 
avenue  to  the  very  gates  of  the  White  House  I  For 
small  indeed,  at  that  day,  was  the  clear-headed 
minority  which  knew  that  treason  was  crushed  for- 
ever; that  no  provocation  and  no  misgovernment 
could  again  lead  to  arbitrament  of  arms ;  that  the 
shackled  South  was  sitting,  like  her  of  Scripture,  in 
the  ashes  of  her  desolation,  and  that  only 

The  voice  of  Rachel,  for  her  children  crying, 
Will  not  be  comforted  ! 

Fewer  still  realized,  as  A'ct,  that,  out  of  those  ashes, 
the  South  would  soon  rise  above  errors  and  malice 


250  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

alike,  to  take  her  place  in  the  more  perfect  union  of 
the  real  reconstruction ;  that  she  would  water  her 
waste  places,  re-erect  her  own  shattered  resources, 
and  lead  her  late  family  foes  in  a  national  advance 
that  would  astound  the  world!  And,  at  that 
moment,  none  dreamed  that  livid  bitterness  of  sec- 
tional hate  could  earU^  die — North,  as  well  as  South ; 
and  that,  out  of  its  still  green  grave,  would  spring 
the  fresh  shoots  of  a  common  nationality^  more 
vigorous — more  indestructible  than  that  of  the  scarce 
cold  cadaver. 

For,  in  these  da3's  close  post  helium,  personal  pov- 
erty and  the  gloom  of  recent  reminiscence  hung  as  a 
pall  over  the  conquered  South;  while  restlessness  and 
doubt  had  swiftly  moved  into  the  places  of  effort  and 
of  exultation,  throughout  the  victorious  North.  The 
Union  had  been  saved,  indeed ;  but  the  problem  that 
caused  broad  brows  to  knit  in  as  yet  unfruitful 
thought,  was  what  to  do  with  the  prostrate  South  ; 
how  to  set  her  once  more  upon  her  feet,  and  to  send 
fresh  blood  through  depleted  arteries  of  commerce 
and  stagnant  veins  of  production — to  the  health  of  a 
new  and  living  body  politic. 

And  another  problem — equally  weighty,  but  as  yet 
touching  the  North  alone — was  that  far-reaching 
corruption,  ever  following  expenditure  of  vast  pub- 
lic treasure;  an  evil  now  already  loathsome  in  every 
great  center  of  population,  but  festering  to  far  more 
prunnellent  peril  at  the  capital  of  the  nation.  And 
that  capital,  having  just  seen  the  tragic  and  aimless 
sacrifice  of  one  chief  executive,  was  in  the  throes  of 
preparation    for    sacrifice    of    his    jaistol-promoted 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  251 

successor,  at  the  hands  of  the  highest  legislative 
tribunal  of  the  land.  So,  strange  indeed  were  the 
monsters  cast  up  b\'  the  groundswell  of  that  vast 
upheaval  which  had,  for  four  dark  and  dreadful 
years,  toppled  down  usage  and  tradition  throughout 
the  seemingly  doomed  country. 

Nor  was  Washington  City  herself  yet  free  from 
external  marks  of  the  vStruggle,  during  which  she 
had  been  more  than  once  the  pivotal  point  of  defense. 
Her  people  recalled  their  quivering  suspense,  after 
Bull  Run;  their  tardy  tidings  from  Jackson's  "Italian 
campaign"  in  the  valley;  their  dread  before  and  dur- 
ing the  days  of  Gettysburg;  and  the  echo  their  own 
hearts  gave  to  Early's  guns  at  Silver  Spring.  For 
the  fortifications  thrown  up  to  meet  these  dangers, 
still  bristled  onever}^  strategic  point;  while  uniforms, 
of  every  arm  and  rank,  were  the  rule,  rather  than 
the  exception,  at  every  gathering  in  public  or  in 
private.  And — though-  contract  and  lavish  favor- 
itism had  already  rubbed  Aladdin's  lamp,  briskly  and 
to  purpose — the  city  of  post  helium  da\'s  did  not  sit, 
as  now,  high  above  her  sisters  in  queenship  of  civic 
beauty.  The  ^vork  now  so  grandly  finished  had 
been  begun,  stimulating  national  pride  and  specula- 
tive pocket  in  almost  equal  degree.  But  "the  Ameri- 
can Haussmann,"  as  3^et,  had  merely  hinted  his  per- 
fected imitation  of  strategic  Paris,  which — no\v 
glorious  and  beautiful  in  days  of  perfect  peace — 
might  still  advantage  best  in  those  of  civil  strife. 

The  national  capital  was  ever  full  of  strangers 
from  every  section,  in  days  succedent  to  the  peace; 
and  those  preachers  who,  on  ever\'  sabbath  morning,. 


252  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

offered  up  praj'er  for  "All  sorts  and  conditions  of 
men,"  assuredly  petitioned  for  these  strangers  within 
her  gates.  And  their  most  varied  sorts  and  ill  condi- 
tions were  from  the  South ;  some  seeking  pardon,  to 
recover  lost  property ;  others  political  rehabilitation 
for  usefulness  at  home;  the  majority  hungry  for  those 
flesh-pots  of  Egypt,  so  attractive  and  so  nosesome  to 
their  long-starved  sense.  And  these  last  were  easily 
recognizable,  even  among  the  visiting  Southerners. 
For  politics,  at  that  day,  of  course  had  but  one 
complexion  ;  and  he  who  hungered — however  many 
inches  thick  he  might  essay  to  paint  his  face — needs 
must  come  to  this  at  last,  or  taste  not.  Nor  was 
there  manifest  reticence  to  take  the  prevailing  tint ; 
while  there  was  recognizable  greed  about  those 
Avho  yearned  for  humble  pie,  however  strongly 
flavored  with  the  taint  of  their  own  stale  principles. 

Most  readily  recognizable — most  obtrusive  of  self 
and  paramount  claim — were  the  hordes  of  blatant 
*' Southern  loyalists;"  ever  vaunting  the  sacrifices 
made  and  perils  passed  for  devotion  to  the  Old  Flag, 
yet  ever  whining  for  payment  in  coin,  for  services 
claimed  to  have  been  given  to  principle.  For  it  was 
a  rule — proved  past  dispute  since  then — that  those 
Southern  Unionists  who  suffered  aught  from  loyal 
adherence  to  their  cause,  made  the  least  vaunt  of 
their  loyalty  at  close  of  the  war. 

On  a  bright,  crisp  morning  of  spring  a.  notable 
figure  strides  down  Penns^dvania  avenue,  the  bulk 
of  papers  in  his  bony,  brown  hands  showing  his 
objective  point  to  be  some  department  of  the  West 
End.      Tall,  stalwart  and  stooping  somewhat— but 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  253 

more  from  habit  than  weight  of  evident  years  upon 
his  silvered  head  —  the  man  is  ill  at  ease  in  his  long 
frock  coat  of  shinj^  black,  and  often  raises  his  silk 
hat,  as  though  it  hurt  him. 

Suddenly  he  meets  a  well-dressed  officer,  with 
eagles  upon  his  buff  shoulder  straps;  and,  with  a 
gleam  in  his  deep  set  e\'es,  and  what  tries  to  be  a 
smile,  advances  \vith  broad  hand  outstretched : 

"Yer  hain't  furgot  ole  fren's,  hez  yer,  Cap'n 
Wite?"  he  sa^-s,  gravely.  "I  'low  e'm  glad  ter 
meet!" 

The  neat  officer  stares  coolly  past  the  speaker,  as 
he  says,  quietly : 

"Really,  sir,  3'ou  seem  to  have  the  advantage 
of  me." 

"Yer  ben't  jok'n',  be  yer!  I  'low,  cap'n,  er  gin'ral, 
ez  yer  mebbe,  we  'tms  went  a-raidin'  nigh  ter  Gads- 
ding,  in  '63 ;  an'  JohnHolden  hain't  growed  no  differ, 
hez  he?" 

"Really,  Mr.  Holden,"  the  officer  replied, coldly,  "I 
might  recall  such  an  occurrence,  or  such  an  individ- 
ual ;  but,  for  the  life  of  me,  I  can  remember  nothing 
in  it  especially  to  my  credit,  or — to  jours!  War,  like 
poverty,  makes  strange  bed  fellows ;  but  it  is  one  of 
the  best  blessings  of  peace,  that  we  may  change  our 
linen.    Good-morning,  sir !  " 

And,  passing  around  the  statue-like  figure,  not 
noting  the  still  outstretched  hand,  Colonel  White 
moved  on ;  in  time  to  receive  a  gracious  smile  and 
bow  from  the  coupe  of  the  minister  from  San  Carlo. 

Holden  stood,  dazed  and  with  darkened  face,  his 
only  gesture  to  raise  the  outstretched  hand,  grasping 


254  JOHN    HOLDEX,    UNIONIST. 

his  beaver  fiercely  and  rear  it — oriflamme-like — to  the 
mbrning  sun,  as  he  muttered : 

"  Ther  skunk  whelp !  ter  use  me  'gin  m'  own  people 
an'  then  turn  'gin  me!  But  ther  Lord  hez  jestis',  an' 
I  'low  thar's  good  a-waitin'  fur  His  instermunts, 
w'en  tha's  kick't  by  ther  heels  ov  asses!  These" — 
he  gripped  his  papers  vengefully — "be  like  ter  mek  a 
bigger  man'n  thet  hark  ter  John  Holden !  " 

Unmindful  of  wondering  stare,  or  amused  smile  of 
passers  at  his  strange  pantomime,  the  Unionist  strode 
rapidly  away,  toward  the  Department  of  Justice. 
He  had  put  in  earl}'  claim,  not  letting  the  wax  cool 
upon  the  letter  of  peace,  and  had  been  rewarded  with 
a  small  office,  under  the  inilitarj^  government  of 
Alabama;  but,  aiming  higher,  he  was  now  seeking  a 
collectorship  of  Internal  Revenue,  that  Ultima  Thtile 
of  Southern  political  aspiration.  Nor  had  he  found 
his  path  to  it  rose-strewn ;  for  demand  of  the  "scala- 
wags," as  Southern  Unionists  were  called,  already 
clashed  with  those  of  that  hungry'  horde  of  "carpet- 
bag" adventurers,  swooping  down  upon  the  South 
for  spoils,  so  soon  as  it  was  no  longer  dangerous  to 
attempt  that  section  "by  assault." 

At  the  department,  he  seemed  a  familiar  figure  to 
ihe  messengers,  who  exchanged  meaning — if  not 
respectful — glances  on  his  advent.  The  chief  was 
"busy  with  a  senator,"  so  Holden  waited  long  and 
patiently  for  an  audience.  His  meeting  with  Colonel 
White  had  wakened  man\' a  bitter  memory  that  slept 
while  he  tried  to  circumvent  political  foes ;  and  with 
them  awoke  all  the  old  hatred  for  the  slayers  of  his 
boy,  and  vivid  memory  of  his  still  unfulfilled  oath. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  255 

He  thought,  too,  how  Farmer  Freeman  had  pros- 
pered, spite  of  being  an  "unreconstructed  rebel"  still, 
^nd  of  secret  information  laid  against  him  locally. 
For  the  unskilled  government  use  of  Freeman's  min- 
eral lands,  during  last  years  of  the  war,  had  merely 
hinted  the  vastness  of  their  resources  under  skilled 
development ;  and  keen  -  nosed  speculators  were 
already  in  treaty  to  capitalize  and  work  their  pre- 
cious substrata. 

' '  But  I  'low  I  kin  tech  him  sore ! ' '  Holden  muttered, 
half  aloud.  "I  kin  swar  him  outen  parding  sho' ; 
an'  tha's  not  a-dangerin'  ther  gold,  a-vestin'  'thout 
no  skewr'ty.  I'll  drap  er  hint  ter  ther  jedge  an' 
he'll-" 

A  clerk  broke  into  his  musing  to  say  that  the  chief 
would  see  him  now;  and  the Alabamaloyalist strode 
gi'imly  into  the  presence  of  perhaps  the  most  noted — 
w^hile  probably  the  least  popular — of  the  ultra  lead- 
ers of  the  day. 

The  judge's  personality  was  anything  but  a  win- 
ning one,  spite  of  pronounced  marks  of  power,  cul- 
ture and  high  breeding  in  his  face,  gesture  and 
address.  There  was  habitual  gloom  adding  to  his 
natural  reticence ;  and,  even  then,  his  face  had  the  trick 
of  losing  consciousness,  for  the  moment,  of  matters 
nearer — seeming  to  reflect  ugly  pictures  of  the  past. 
If  there  had  ever  been  any  magnetism  about  him,  it 
had  now  shifted  from  the  positive  to  the  negative 
pole  of  the  human  battery ;  repelling,  not  attracting. 
He  took  Holden's  outstretched  hand  as  coldly  as 
barest  courtesy  permitted,  letting  its  broad  bulk 
slip  through  his  unclosed  fingers,  with  the  touch  per- 


256  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

functory,  but  none  of  "the  personal  touch."  Doubt- 
less, this  noted  official  was  disgusted— if  not  with 
"greatness  thrust  upon  him"  by  his  lurid  public 
career,  at  least  with  its  uncongenial  following. 
This  could  but  contrast  strangely — in  bitter  revenge 
of  time's  whirligig— with  the  cherished  pursuits  of  a 
long  Hfetime;  more  strangely  still  with  those  home 
surroundings,  impressed  by  stately  quiet  and  name- 
less charm — once  known,  never  to  be  forgotten — of 
one  of  the  grand  women  of  her  day.  For  never  had 
the  social  opulence  of  the  Blue  Grass  state  lent  to 
the  "ReiDublican  Court"  of  later  days  three  repre- 
sentatives more  gifted,  more  gracious,  or  more  lav- 
ishly dowered  by  nature  than  those  sisters — of  whom 
one  was  his  true  and  loyal  helpmate,  in  darkest 
shadow  as  in  broadest  sunshine. 

So  now,  the  official's  face  wore  its  introspective 
mask ;  and  he  stood  absentW,  as  Holden  sat  down, 
placed  his  hat  upon  the  floor  and  ostentatiously 
thrust  his  papers  into  it,  sa^ang : 

"I  'low  ye're  look'n'  well,  jedge,  an'  now — " 

"Your  papers  have  been  carefully  examined,  Mr. 
—  Holden,"  the  judge  said,  absent^,  glancing  at  the 
scrawled  card  on  his  desk.  "But  nothing  in  them 
belongs  to  this  department.  Your  appointment 
rests  solely  with  Mr.  Secretary  of  the  Treasury." 

"An'  ther  lab'rer  ben't  v^uth  his  hire,  ben't  he?" 
was  the  grim  retort.  "Wen  er  man  hez  resked  life 
an'  lim'  fur  ther  Un'in  fur  fo'  long  year,  he  hain't  got 
no  claim,  hez  he?  " 

"Your  claims  will  doubtless  be  carefully  considered. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  257 

along  with  others  filed  for  the  same  position,"  the 
official  said,  vagueh'. 

"But,  ef  I  kin  pint  outer  new  cornspir'cy,"  Holden 
answered,  keenly  watching  effect  ot  his  words;  "ef  I 
cud  name  ther  hed  an'  boss  ov  them  Ku-Klux  ter 
hum,  wot  'ud  thet  help  ?  " 

A  gleam  crept  into  the  dull  eyes  of  the  chief,  ordi- 
narily looking  inward,  as  at  some  bitter  memory. 
And  Holden  noted  it,  though  the  answer  was  wary: 

"Any  proofs  you  could  give,  Mr.  Holden;  any 
names  —  accompanied  by  provable  facts  —  w^ould 
doubtless  be  considered  valuable  service." 

"S'pos'n'  I  ge'en  ther  name  ov  Phil  Freeman,  ez 
ther  hed  ov  'em  roun'  my  neighbor'd  ?  Yer  set  thet 
down  ter  w^unst,  an'  yere  be  er  list  ov  lan's  an'  sech 
ez  he  owns.  You  'uns  hed  orter  cornfiskate  'em  all; 
fur  he  w^ar  sho'  a  pizen  bad  rebul  afore  he  riz  ther 
Ku-Klux,  yan! " 

The  great  man  took  the  eagerly  extended  papers; 
casting  his  eye  carelessly  on  them,  as  though  already 
weary  of  his  visitor.  But  something  seemed  to  inter- 
est him  suddenly ;  for  he  began  to  read  rapidly,  turn- 
ing page  after  page  with  professional  speed. 

Holden's  stealtjiy  gaze  followed  him,  as  a  cat's  the 
mouse  well  within  reach ;  and  triumph  began  to 
glow  red  in  his  eyes,  as  he  felt  he  had  played  a  trump 
card,  and  a  big  one,  too.  But  the  judge  quietly 
refolded  the  documents ;  and — as  the  other  stretched 
his  great  hand  for  them  —  placed  a  heavy  paper 
weight  upon  them.  And  his  face  was  as  hard  and 
inscrutable  as  that  of  the  Sphinx,  as  he  sad: 

17 


258  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"I  regret  to  hasten  you,  Mr.  Holden;  but  I  have 
an  engagement  at  this  hour.  No ; — you  can  leave 
these  papers.  They  are  filed  now,  and  cannot  be 
"withdrawn ;  but  will  be  used  as  best  fits  your  case. 
Good-morning,  Mr.  Holden." 

The  official  bowed  coldly  as  his  visitor  walked 
out;  but,  quickly  seating  himself,  he  reopened  the 
papers,  scanning  them  wnth  close  and  eager  scrutiny. 
Then  he  struck  his  desk-gong  sharply ;  saying  to  the 
clerk  who  answered — but  without  looking  up : 

"In  m  J  private  file,  McFadden,  in  the  M's;  letters 
of  Middktown  &  Screws,  New  York,  with  maps  of 
North  Alabama  and  plats  of  lands!  Strange,"  he 
added  to  himself,  as  the  clerk  withdrew,  "but,  per- 
haps it  was  only  a  coincidence.  In  any  case,  the  old 
traitor  is  doubtless  lying!  " 


CHAPTER  XXI. 

CHARGES  AND  CONFESSIONS. 

John  Holden  passed  swiftly  through  the  ante- 
room to  the  corridor,  his  silk  hat  pushed  far  back 
from  his  corrugated  forehead ;  and  his  lips  working 
as  though  repeating  the  judge's  word.  But,  at  the 
stair  head,  he  halted  abruptly  and  moved  up  the  cor- 
ridor, turning  his  back  on  the  man  ascending.  But 
the  other — grave,  earnest  and  absorbed — took  no 
note  of  him  ;  passing  on  to  the  anteroom  and  closing 
its  door  behind  him. 

"I  hain't  a-doubtin',be  I?"  Holden  muttered, star- 
ing at  the  closed  door.  "  Et  ar'  him,  sho'  ez  ther  Lord 
sets  thar!  An'  he  do  seem  a-prosperin',  ef  he  w^ar 
ther  wus'  rebul  ov  ther  lot!  Wot  kin  ther  sesesh 
want  'long  ov  ther  jedge  ?  I  'low  I  kin  fin'  out,  fur 
ther  cuss  is  on  him,  ef  I  hez  plum  furgot  my  yoath ! 
Mebbe  ther  time  hez  cum  w'en  I  kin  strike  mo'  sho' 
fur  waitin'.  I  hez  jes'  streck  w^un;  I  'low  I  kin  wait 
fur  'tuther,  an'  watch  for  ven'gince!  " 

He  drew  back  into  a  closed  doorway;  his  green 
eyes  gleaming  on  the  one  Beverly  Latham  had  just 
entered.  That  whilom  giddy  trooper  had  changed 
little  outwardly,  since  he  saved  from  the  noose  the 
watcher  on  him  now.    But  graver  and  filled  with 

259 


260  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

plans  for  aiding  his  own  people,  higher  aspirations 
had  placed  their  stamp  upon  his  still  handsome  face. 
Appomattox  found  him  colonel  of  a  regiment  under 
Hampton;  Forrest's  promotion  on  the  field  leading, 
step  by  step,  to  the  head  of  the  corps  in  which  he  got 
his  troop.  On  parole  at  his  loved  home — happily 
showing  little  of  war's  devastating  drain,  in  the 
more  direct  paths  of  battle — Latham  at  once  went  to 
w^ork  for  family  first,  and  neighbors  next.  His  ever 
idolizing  mother  and  sisters  now  worshiped  him  as 
a  veritable  hero ;  never  wearying  of  question  as  to 
minutest  detail  of  his  army  life.  And  he  answered 
honestly — while  modestly,  ever — in  all  matters  save 
one ;  for  those  proud  w^omen  only  learned  that  For- 
rest had  promoted,  "for  service;"  and  no  mention  of 
Jen  Freeman — far  less  allusion  to  their  j^ast — ever  left 
his  lips,  even  to  Stella. 

And  where  she  was,  he  himself  could  only  surmise; 
ignorant  if  she  were  married  or  single.  Active  duty 
had  prevented  close  quest ;  and  two  letters  to  Shelby 
• — ostensibly  on  business  of  their  service  together — 
brought  no  mention  of  her  name,  in  his  brief  replies. 
So  Latham  must  fain  believe  that  Jen  Freeman 
meant  her  words ;  that  she  had  forgotten  him,  and 
he  should  never  see  her  again. 

Absorbed  in  the  work  of  rehabilitating  his  state, 
the  man  found  little  time  for  sentimental  regrets ; 
yet,  often,  in  long,  solitary  rides,  he  would  live  over 
the  scenes  of  that  summer;  would  take  from  his 
breast  the  camp- worn  locket  and  gaze  long  and  wist- 
fully at  the  faded  blue  ribbon,  which  he  refused  to  let 
sisterU^  fingers  replace  by  a  fresher  one. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  261 

Business,  for  himself,  or  others,  often  carried 
Latham  to  Washington ;  and  he  was  already  known 
to  many  bureau  chiefs— and  to  men  in  that  congress 
to  which  the  whole  South  now  looked  so  anxiously 
—as  a  man  of  decided  strength  of  courage  for  his 
rights,  and  of  larsre  influence  at  home  besides.  So,  it 
was  no  strange  name  that  McFadden  announced  to 
the  judge,  when  he  tendered  the  papers  of  Middle- 
town  &  Screws,  from  his  private  file. 

"I  am  busy  for  five  minutes," he  said, hastily  open- 
ing the  papers  handed  him.     "Then,  admit  him." 

When  the  Virginian  entered,  the  judge  coldly,  but 
courteously,  motioned  him  to  a  seat;  but  Latham 
stood  quietly,  saying : 

"I  have  but  a  moment  to  stay,  sir.  I  merely  called 
again  to  ask  if  those  papers,  filed  in  Mr.  Preston's 
case,  have  been  passed  upon." 

"They  have  been  examined,"  was  the  cold  reph', 
^'but  I  have  not  made  any  endorsement  upon  them." 

"May  I  ask  why?"  Latham  replied.  "Are  not  all 
the  statements  they  contain  verified  by  proof?  " 

"I  believe  that  is  the  case,"  the  judge  admitted. 

"Then,  sir,  there  is  no  justice  in  delaying  action. 
The  old  gentleman  needs  these  papers;  without 
them,  he  is  at  the  mercy  of  enemies  and  sharpers." 

"It  does  not  appear  that  he  has  taken  the  oath." 

"There  was  no  necessity,"  Latham  answered, 
quickly.  "He  was  over  age,  a  non-combatant  and 
never  a  politician.  There  was  nothing  for  him  to 
ywear." 

"He  was  a  warm  rebel  sympathizer,  though." 


262  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"He  is  a  native  Virginian,  sir,"  Latham  replied. 
"He  was  a  good  citizen  of  his  state,  as  he  new  is  of 
the  Union!" 

The  official  looked  gravely  at  the  speaker ;  then  he 
retorted  sharply : 

"Yet,  you  took  the  oath,  Mr.  Latham!" 

"I  did  sir.  When  I  surrendered  my  sword,  the  war 
had  ended — on  our  side.  You  have  been  an  officer, 
sir,  and  must  know  that  a  soldier's  parole  is  his 
bond.  After  that,  the  oath  of  allegiance  was  a  mere 
form,  because  I  meant  to  keep  my  faith  with  the 
victors.  And,  by  taking  it,  I  could  be  of  more  prac- 
tical use  to  my  people  than  by  sulking  at  home  over 
vain  regrets.  But,  sir,  for  Mr.  Preston's  case,  even 
a  rebel  sympathizer  is  said  to  have  some  legal  rights. 
Those  papers  should  be  endorsed  by  you  to  the  Treas- 
ury Department." 

"You  seem  emphatic,  Mr.  Latham,"  the  judge 
answered  coldly.  "But  should  they  not  be 
endorsed — " 

"I  should  appeal  in  person  to  President  Johnson, 
in  that  case,"  Latham  replied,  quick]3^  "The  mat- 
ter is  too  plain  for  even  quibble  to — " 

He  stopped  suddenly.  His  eye,  chancing  to  fall 
upon  the  card  K'ing  near,  mechanically  read  the 
name  of  John  Holden.  And  the  official's  cold  eye  fol- 
lowing his,  suddenly  lit  with  an  idea,  and  his  lips 
changed  the  words,  already  formed  upon  them,  to 
the  bland  reply : 

"You  are  right,  Mr.  Latham;  and  this  department 
never  deals  in  quibbles.      It  is  perhaps  rather  grace, 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  263 

than  strict  justice,  to  forego  the  oath ;   but   I   will 
refer  the  Preston  case  favorably." 

"I  am  glad  of  your  decision,  sir,"  Latham  said, 
intentionally  avoiding  thanks  for  what  he  claimed  as 
a  right ;  and  he  turned  to  go. 

" One  moment,  if  you  please, "  the  other  said.  "I 
believe  you  served  in  Alabama;  in  that  mountain 
region  where  loyalty  was  least  dangerous." 

"Yes,  sir;  I  served  once  in  North  Alabama." 

"You  knew  a  family  of  Freemans?" 
The  question  was  shot  at  him  suddenl}r ;   and  to 
his  disgust,   Latham  felt  his  face  flush  hot,  as  he 
answered : 

"If  you  mean  Philip  Freeman,  a  farmer,  I  knew 
him.    I  was  once  ill  at  his  house." 

"A  blatant  politician  ?    A  popular  leader,  is  he?" 
In  spite  of  his  surprise,  Latham  smiled  at  the  idea 
the  question  raised,  as  he  answered : 

"Least  so  of  any  man  I  can  recall.  But  what  of 
him  ?     I  hope  he  is  in  no  trouble." 

His  eyes,  following  swift  flash  of  thought,  fell  on 
John  Holden's  card  again ;  and  the  judge's  e3"es  fol- 
lowed his,  as  he  answered,  guardedh' : 

"No;  not  exactly  trouble;  but  it  is  well  for  an v 
man,  in  these  times,  to  be  vouched  for" — he  rose 
gravely,  bowing  gracefully — "b\'  one  we  respect  and 
rely  upon,  though  we  differ  with  him  on  many 
points.  I  presume,  Mr.  Latham,  that  should  need 
come,  this  man  can  prove  quiet,  loyal  life  ?" 

"If  any  man  in  the  South  can  convince  your 
department  of  that,  sir,  I  should  say  Farmer  Freeman 
could.      But,  good-day,  sir,"  said  Latham,  recollect- 


264  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

ing  himself.  "I  shall  call  at  the  Treasur_v  Depart- 
ment, in  the  morning?" 

"The  papers  will  be  there,  Mr.  Latham,"  the 
official  replied ;  and  the  Virginian  left  the  room,  pass- 
ing into  the  corridor.  Just  at  the  stair-head,  he  met 
John  Holden,  face  to  face. 

"I  'low  yer  hezn't  furgot  me,"  he  said. 

"No,  I  have  not  forgotten  3'oti,"  was  the  cool 
answer.  "Unpleasant  memories  hang  b\'  us.  Good- 
morning." 

"  But  Holden — lowering  as  his  look  grew  under  the 
taunt — htmg  close  to  his  side,  as  he  passed  dowm  the 
steps,  coming  straight  to  his  point. 

"Yer  mind  ther  las'  time  we  met,  yung  soljer?" 

"Unfortunately,  it  was  not  the  'last  time '.  I  w^as 
silly  enough  to  prevent  their  hanging  j^ou,"  Latham 
replied. 

"Tha'  hedn't  no  cause,  hed  tha'?"  Holden  con- 
doned the  affront,  intent  on  his  object,  and,  fixing  his 
eyes  keenly  on  the  other's  face,  added:  "I  hedn't 
sed  nuthin'  'cep'n  w^ot  ther  whole  mounting  hez  sed 
sence.  I  'low  Freeman's  gell  did  hev  her  larks  ov 
nights,  'long  ov  her  yung  men!" 

Latham  stopped  on  the  stair,  his  cheeks  burning 
and  his  eyes  ablaze,  as  he  turned  on  the  speaker.  But 
he  controlled  his  voice  to  calm  contempt,  as  he 
answered  slowly : 

"I  thought  then  I  w^as  wrong  to  save  your  neck ! 
Traitor  to  your  section  and  your  neighbors  as  you 
are,  I  presume  you  have  come  hereto  grovel  for  blood 
money;  but  I  cannot  see  how  you  can  hope  to  help 
your  case,  by  Ij'ing  about  w^omen." 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  265 

John  Ilolden's  face  darkened  still  more,  and  his 
eyes  gleamed  redder,  as  his  foe  spoke;  his  hand 
clutching  tremblingly,  as  for  a  weapon.  But  strong 
will  controlled  him ;  and  the  gleam  of  hate  in  his 
eyes  changed  to  a  leer  of  cunning,  as  he  answered : 

"  Yer  hezn't  loss  yer  spunk,  hez  yer?  But  thet  don' 
mek  no  differ.  Ther  gell  hez  gone,  an'  ther  bad  name 
she  lefif'  hezn't.  She'd  orter  a-know'd  she  war 
a-dangerin',  meetin'  ov  Johnny  an'  ov  Yank,  late  o' 
nights.  But  I  'low  ez  3'er  hain't  a-keerin'  ter  lissen, 
an'  ther's  no  need  nuther — " 

Had  the  Unionist  been  his  satanic  majesty  himself, 
horns,  hoofs  and  tail,  Beverly  Latham  could  not 
have  restrained  the  exclamation : 

' '  Gone !    Is  she — dead  ? ' ' 

"Live  and  peart,  I  'low!"  the  Unionist  chuckled, 
with  an  ill-suppressed  gleam  of  triumph  in  his  eyes. 
''  Her  pav^  hez  druv  her  oft,  'long  ov  nim  ov  ther  gells 
choosin'  ter  notis  her.  Tha's  a  reckulus  lot,  but  tha' 
ken't  Stan'  too  much!" 

Through  the  rush  of  conflicting  emotions,  the  man 
heard  these  words  plainly ;  but  he  himself  could  never 
have  told  what  they  brought  to  him.  Memory,  sur- 
prise, sorrow  and  self-contempt  warred  for  mastery 
of  his  brain.  Ph\'sical  impulse  urged  him  to  lay  at 
his  feet  the  traducer  of  the  woman  he  had  loved  ;  but 
something  more  potent  still  impelled  an  outward 
calm,  as  he  turned  full  on  Holden,  saying: 

"I  have  known  you  onh^  as  a  traitor  and  spy,  at 
home.  You  cannot  expect  I  will  be  seen  in  the  street 
■with  a  known  scalawag!    Don't  follow  me!  " 


266  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

He  strode  into  the  street,  followed  by  Holden's 
eyes,  gleaming  with  triumphant  malice,  as  he  stood 
within  the  doorway  muttering : 

"He  hez  spunk,  sho' !  But  I  hez  streck  him  sore, 
fur  he  do  b'l'eveit!  Curses  on 'em  all!  But  ther 
Lord's  work  ar'  doin',  fur  ther  trap  ez  laid  fur  ther 
dad,  an'  ther  hunter  hez  turn'd  'gin  his  gell !  His 
tim'  hez  cum  at  las' !  " 

The  garish  daylight  galled  Latham's  dizzy  sense ; 
the  crowded  streets  seemed  to  clog  and  dam  the  cur- 
rent of  his  swift -rushing  thought.  Mechanically  he 
turned  into  the  White  House  grounds ;  striding  rap- 
idl}^  toward  the  lonesome  monument  south  of  them. 
Unable  to  reason,  under  the  sudden  blow,  intuition 
vainh^  strove  to  repel  the  statements  w^hich  memory 
would  raise  up,  in  some  sort,  to  confirm.  Yet  mem- 
ory, at  the  same  time,  would  raise  pictures  of  those 
peaceful,  happy  summer  days ;  of  the  pure  life  and 
gentle  womanhood  of  her,  w^ho  had  nursed  him  back 
to  health — had  taught  him  to  love  her  by  sheer  force 
of  gentleness  and  truth !  Why  should  he  weigh  the 
word  of  that  vile  traitor,  instead  of  taking  train  for 
Alabama,  to  disprove — 

But  the  girl  had  gone !  That  could  not  be  a  lie. 
And  where  had  she  fled — and  why?  For  memory 
emphasized  her  strong  aversion  to  leaving  her  father, 
even  at  his  and  her  aunt's  urgence !  So  there  must 
be  cogent  reason,  w^hen  she  did  so ;  and  then,  clear 
and  sharp  before  him,  rose  that  midnight,  when  that 
creeping  white  form — hesitant,  fearful,  and  in  guise 
he  should  not  see — had  slipped  from  the  house,  mov- 
ing guiltily  toward    the    gate.     And    there — in  the 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  267' 

noonday  of  tlie  busy  city — he  could  hear  the  tremor 
in  her  voice,  urging  him  "not  to  tell  papa!"  Then, 
clear  as  in  judgment,  came  to  his  ear  the  quavering 
voice  of  the  old  cripple,  meeting  him  in  the  roadway 
as  he  galloped  off  with  her  blue  ribbon,  and  driveling 
of  rebel  lover  from  Gadsden,  and  of  another  in 
the  Federal  ranks!  Doubtless  the  old  wretch  lied. 
But,  if  others  knew  of  these  reports — spoke  of  them 
openly ;  if,  knowing  this,  Jen  had  left  home  rather 
than  meet  and  disprove  them — what  then  ? 

Once  more,  in  thought,  he  rode  behind  her  into  the 
charge;  felt  the  agon\^  of  terror  and  suspense — the 
thrill  of  joy  that  paid  for  all  as  he  swept  her  from 
saddle,  bearing  her  to  safetj^  in  his  arms !  How  could 
a  woman  with  one  impure  taint  have  acted  thus  ? 
But,  even  then — parting  with  him,  perhaps  for  ever — 
she  had  shrunk  away  because  she  was  "so  dift'erent" 
from  his  people, — from  Stella!  So  his  brain  whirled 
with  its  sudden  transition  from  doubt  to  trust — from 
love  to  suspicion ;  and,  still  striding  on,  seeing  no 
one — forgetful  of  the  business  and  social  demands  of 
the  present  under  pressure  of  the  past — Beverly 
Latham  was  near  the  government  gardens  when  he 
heard : 

"Why,  Colonel  Latham!  Glad  to  see  you!  When 
did  you  get  here?"  And  Colonel  White  extended  a 
cordial  hand. 

"In  1863  —  a — only  this  morning,"  Latham 
answered,  pulling  himself  together  bravely;  but  tak- 
ing the  other's  hand  rather  absently.  "  Business  for 
some  of  my  people;  and  Stella  wrote  she  needed  me, 
as  her  visit  is  nearing  its  end." 


268  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"I  regretted  much,  when  she  told  me  so,"  White 
answered,  gravely.  "I  have  had  the  privilege  of  see- 
ing so  much  of  Miss  Latham,  colonel,  that  I  will  miss 
her,  in  common  with  all  Washington — at  least,  all  of 
it  that  she  will  permit  to  know  her." 

''Naturally  all  Virginia  ladies  must  make  election, 
just  now,"  Latham  replied.  "Faces  and  families  in 
Washington  are  new  to  us  now  ;  and  it  is  the  exception 
when  we  meet  courtesy  and  greeting,  like  yours,  for 
instance.  But,  of  course,  we  cannot  expect — nor 
seek  them." 

"I  understand  that,"  White  said,  quietly.  "You 
Virginians  have  so  much  pride." 

"Only  in  assertion  of  our  rights,"  was  the  reply. 
"But  in  social  matters  we  do  not  come  in  iorma 
pauperis.^' 

"Which  w^ay  were  you  \valking  so  fast?"  White 
asked,  shifting  to  the  safer  ground. 

"To  —  a — the  Treasury  Department,"  Latham 
answered,  looking  at  his  Avatch;  "but  it  is  rather 
late,  so  I'll  go  to  my  cousin's — Mrs.  Dandridge's." 

"If  you  don't  mind  five  minutes,  I'll  w^alk  with 
you,"  White  answered,  quickh-.  "I  was  onh'  going 
to  order  a  basket  for  Miss  Latham.  I  have  a  green- 
house permit,  and  I  know  she  is  fond  of  flowers." 

Latham  nodded  assent,  looking  keenly  into  the 
frank,  handsome  face  of  his  late  foe.  Stella,  his 
favorite  sister,  had  paid  several  visits  to  her  cousin 
and  schoolmate,  Betty  Dandridge;  and  she  had 
written,  and  spoken,  very  kindly  of  Colonel  White. 
Both  had  met  him,  on  Latham's  first  visit  after  the 
:surrender;   and  his  courteous,  but  frank,  views  of 


JOHN    HOLDEX,    UNIONIST.  269 

"the  situation"  had  caused  them  to  "take  to"  him 
more  than  to  any  other  habitue  of  Mrs.  Dandridge's 
somewhat  piebald  receptions.  A  small  wondering 
query  crept  into  Latham's  mind,  as  they  walked 
toward  that  lady's ;  but  at  her  door,  he  asked  cor- 
dially: 

"Shall  we  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing  you 
to-night?" 

"I  hope  so,  if  I  am  not  too  late.  I  have  an  engage- 
ment in —  By  the  wa}',  she  is  one  '  of  you ' ;  a  fair 
Confederate  with  a  wealth  of  accomplishments  and 
mineral  lands ;  and  a  horsewoman  to  shame  Di 
Vernon's  self! " 

"A  Virginian?"  Latham  asked,  absently.  His 
mind  went  straight  back  to  that  ride,  so  freighted 
wath  bitter  memories  now,  w^hen  another  woman 
had  ridden  like  Di  Vernon. 

"No;  from  the  far  South,"  the  colonel  answered. 
" What  your  people  call  'of  the  Paris  Confederacy.' 
She  has  just  returned  from  a  European  visit  of  years; 
full  of  music  and  languages,  and  is  visiting  Mrs. 
Craig,  in  that  small  rebeldom,  Georgetown.  I  have 
an  idea  that  I  may  unearth  a  small  romance — 
Hello !  there's  my  car.  Hope  to  see  you  to-night ; 
au  revoir  !"  and  the  officer  ran  to  board  his  car. 

Latham  found  the  ladies  out  calling;  and,  loung- 
ing into  Mrs.  Dandridge's  handsome  librarv,  he 
picked  up  the  afternoon  paper  and — began  to  think 
again.  More  coolly,  his  mind  went  over  the  same 
ground  it  had  covered  in  feverish  haste  that  morn- 
ing; but,  strive  as  he  would,  he  could  decide  nothing, 
and  wearied  matter  finally  triumphed  over  wearied 


270  JOHN    HOJ.DEN,    UNIONIST. 

mind.  When  lie  awoke — sitting  bolt  upright,  at 
once,  from  camp  habit — a  tall,  beautiful  woman 
stood  beside  him ;  the  gleaming  arms  and  low  cor- 
sage of  dinner  dress  telling  the  hour,  and  a  sauc}- 
pout  still  on  the  full  lips  that  had  waked  him  wdth  a 
kiss. 

"You  runaway!"  those  lips  said.  "Betty  and  I 
w^aited  a  full  hour.  Now  you're  sleeping  as  though 
you  had  lunched  at  Harvey's !  " 

"But  I've  had  no  lunch,  Stella  dear,"  he  answered. 
"I  was  detained  by  business — " 

"Of  course!  You're  as  ready  as  a  married  man! 
Next  time  I  get  a  new  brother,  he  shall  be  no  business 
man.  But,  you  poor,  dear  boy,"  she  went  on,  sitting 
by  him  and  passing  her  grand  arm  about  him,  "you 
do  look  tired.  Go  up  and  bathe  your  red  ej^es,  before 
Betty  comes  down  to  dinner." 

"  An}' company  ?  "  he  asked,  wearily.  "No  ?  Then 
I'll  talk  to  you  instead  of  beautifying.  Stella, 
Colonel  White  may  drop  in  this  evening." 

"I  hope  so,"  Miss  Latham  answ^ered.  "Then  I 
can  thank  him  for  that  basket  of  rare  flowers  I 
found  waiting  my  return.  Bud — "  her  eyes  came 
quickly  back  to  him,  from  the  bouquet — "I'm  so  glad 
we  are  going  back  home !  " 

"Why,  Stella!  I  thought  you  wrote  you  were 
having  '  a  lovely  time  ?  '  " 

"I  was,  Bev. ;  but  I'm  tired  now  of  being  received 
l)y  the  truly  good  and  loyal,  only  on  sufferance." 

"Sufferance — not  suffrage — is  the  badge  of  all  our 
-tribe,"  he  paraphrased  in  his  old  fashion. 


JOHN    HOLDEX,    UNIONIST.  271 

"I  don't  vote,"  she  answered,  saucily.  **Why! 
what  do  YOU  think  a  fearful  creature,  with  red  hair 
and  a  squint,  asked  me  this  morning?  " 

"Almost  anything,  from  such  a  source,"  he 
laughed. 

"She  asked  if  all  Southern  women  did  not  feel  like 
wearing  sackcloth  and  ashes,  for  urging  our  men  to 
fight  against  'the  flag ! '  " 

"Well;  you  should,"  he  answered,  lightly. 

"I  told  her  we  did  not  object  to  ashes— of  roses," 
the  woman  returned  saucily,  "and  that  I'd  rather 
wear  sackcloth — tailor  made— than  some  of  the  mon- 
strous toilettes  I  saw  in  Washington.  I  saw  her 
glance  at  the  mirror,  for  she  wore  a  perfect  terror ! 
But,  poor  things!  How  should  the  wives  and 
daughters  of  men,  suddenly  rich  on  government 
swindling,  know  how  to  dress?  " 

"But,  sister  mine,  do  all  your  Washington  friends 
receive  you  on  sufferance?  Buds  from  the  govern- 
ment greenhouse  do  not  say  so  !  " 

"Colonel  White  is  —  a  gentleman,"  Stella  said, 
briefly,  but  her  e^^es  left  her  brother's  and  rested  on 
the  handsome  basket. 

"And  a  scholar,"  the  man  finished  for  her.  "No, 
don't  pout,  Stella!  I  like  and  respect  him,  if  he  is  a 
— Union  ofiicer  who  fought  against  us !  " 

"He  was  right!  Colonel  White  is  a  New  Yorker, 
bom  and  reared;  a  graduate  of  West  Point,"  the 
Yirginia  girl  retorted  warmly.  "And,  had  he  not 
fought  for  his  flag,  he  would  be  a — scalawag!  " 

"Certainly;  and  no  man  respects  honest  opposi- 
tion more  than  I,"  her  brother  answered,  frankly. 


272  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"Colonel  White,  and  thousands  like  him,  could  have 
done  nothing  else  and  -won  our  respect." 

"I  knew  that,  you  grand  old  boy!"  she  cried. 
"That  was  the  reason  you  stopped  their  lynching 
that  old  scalawag  in  Alabama,  like — " 

"The  ass  that  I  was !  "  he  finished,  rising  from  the 
sofa  and  striding  awa_y.  Her  chance  word  recalled 
the  morning's  meeting  too  sharply;  but  he  controlled 
himself,  sitting  quietly  by  her  again. 

"Sister,  you  are  a  \voman,  and  a  clever  one,"  he 
said  gravely.  "I  am  j-our  junior,  and  not  a  society 
man  now;  but  I  have  learned  too  well  that  sudden 
intimacies  bring  w^oful  results,  sometimes." 

Stella  Latham  slipped  her  slim,  patrician  hand 
trustfully  into  his,  as  she  answered : 

"Do  not  be  alarmed,  bud.  The  Lathams  are  not 
given  to  social  indiscretion;  and  I  will  not  need  a 
caution,  until  there  is  more  ground  for  it  than  any- 
thing that — that  Colonel  White  has  yet  said  to  me. 
But,"  she  added  more  lightly,  as  she  turned  her 
flushed  face  full  to  him,  "you  are  such  an  ingrained, 
old  business  bachelor  now,  you  will  never  let  me  have 
a  chance  at  3"ou,  as  I  used  to.  Just  wait  until  you — 
meet  jour  fate !  " 

"Perhaps  I  have  met  her,  Stella!  " 
The  tone,  rather  than  the  words,  made  the  girl 
turn  and  stare  at  her  darling,   as  she  exclaimed: 
' '  Be V,  I  really  believe  you  are  in  earnest !    And  you 
never  told  mamma,  or  me  ?    Are  you  serious  ?  " 

"If  I  ever  was  in  my  life,  dear!  Hush !  here  comes 
Betty.  After  coffee,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it,  Stella. 
No^v,  I  must  talk  chaff  to  her!  " 


IT  WAS  A  NOTEWORTHY  COUPLE.— Page  281. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  273 

He  smoothed  the  frown  from  his  forehead;  and 
the  voice  was  quiet  and  easy  that  bartered  common- 
place and  badinage  with  the  others.  But  the  elab- 
orate dinner  seemed  unusually  long  to  Stella  Latham  ; 
her  deep  love  for  her  brother  stimulated  by  woman's 
curiosit3\  So  she  dragged  him  from  Mr.  Dandridge's 
"Cabanas,  "back  to  the  Hbrary,to  hear  his  romance. 
Franklj^,  in  detail,  and  not  without  sense  of  relief, 
Latham  poured  his  full  heart  into  her  sympathetic 
one.  Yet— loyal  and  true,  alike  to  himself  and  to 
memory— he  uttered  no  word  of  the  doubt  that  had 
arisen  ;  lauded  the  good,  pure  and  high  traits  he  had 
loved  in  Jen  Freeman,  and  onl}'  said  that  she  had 
twice  refused  him. 

"And  you  love  her  still,  my  brother?  "  Stella's  lips 
trembled,  as  she  pressed  them  on  his  forehead. 

"I  believe — I  fear  I  will  love  her  always !  And  yet, 
I  never  wish  to  look  upon  her  face  again !  " 

As  he  spoke,  the  brilliant  drawing  room  changed  to 
a  mountain  cove,  under  the  full  moon ;  and,  through 
its  tree-sifted  beams,  he  saw  a  white  figure  gliding 
stealthiK' — to  what  ? 

"But  you  never  spoke  her  name,  Bev.,"  Stella  said, 
softly.     "No,  bud!   Don't!    I  was  silly!" 

"It  is  a  simple  name,  sister;  Jen  Freeman." 

"Freeman ?  "  she  echoed.  "  What  a  strange  coinci- 
dence! " 

"What  do  you  mean ?  "    He  stared  now. 

"Nothing;  but  that  is  the  name  of  the  girl  Colonel 
White — ^raves  about;  his  'romance,'  as  he  calls  her, 
though  he  never  will  explain !  " 

18 


274  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST, 

"It  is  not  an  unusual  name,"  Latham  answered, 
graYeh^  "  But  the  lady  he  spoke  of  to  me  must  be  a 
very  different  woman  from  the  pure  mountain  maid 
I  learned  to  love." 

"I  hope  so,"  Stella  answered  absently;  her  eyes 
fixed  upon  White's  basket.  "She  must  have  been  a 
dangerous  woman  for  an}^  true  man  to  meet !  " 


CHAPTER  XXII. 
"a  knot  of  ribbon  blue." 

It  was  a  luxurious  office  of  tlie  War  Department 
that  Beverly  Latham  entered,  to  be  warmly  greeted 
bv  Colonel  White,  on  the  morning  after  his  confes- 
sion. 

"Delighted  to  see  you,  colonel,"  the  officer  said^ 
cordially  grasping  his  hand.  "You  know  Captain 
Darrell,  I  believe  ?  Sit  dowm  and  have  a  cigar.  Was 
very  sorry  not  to  call  last  night ;  but  I  could  not  get 
off  from  Georgetown  early  enough.  Mrs.  Craig  had 
an  impromptu  musicale.    You  know  Mrs.  Craig,  of 


course 


?" 


"No,  it  w^as  before  my  day  that  Mr.  Craig  was  a 
a  Southern  leader  in  the  senate,  "  Latham  explained. 
"But  the  fame  of  his  brilliant  wife  penetrated  even 
to  the  V.  M.  I.;  and  she  was  a  friend  of  my  mother's. 
But  I  did  not  know-  that  she  w^as  living  here." 

"No,  but  she  has  been  here  all  winter,  using  her 
vast  acquaintance  and  resistless  social  power  for 
w^hat  you  w^ould  call  'the  good  cause. '  " 

"It  is  a  good  cause,"  the  Southerner  answered, 
gravely,  "to  uphold  right  against  might.  But,  par- 
don my  broaching  politics  to  you.  " 

275 


276  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"You  need  not,"  Captain  Darrell  broke  in.  "I  do  n't 
think  that  either  White  or  I  need  conversion.  We 
are  so  much  in  Hne  with  the  president's  present 
views  that,  if  not  'disloj^al,'  we  are  about  as  near 
'copperheads  '  as  men  may  be,  who  wear  these !  "  and 
he  laughed,  as  he  touched  his  shoulder  straps. 

"Darrell  was  with  the  general  on  the  Potomac," 
White  said,  frankly ;  "and  I  was  with  Sherman  at 
the  wind-up.  Like  all  men  at  the  front,  we  believe 
that  matters  would  have  rested  on  the  basis  of  the 
surrender,  had  Mr.  Lincoln  been  spared  to  us." 

"To  the  country, you  might  say,"  Latham  replied- 
"We  of  the  South — even  more  than  you  can — realize 
a  national  calamity  in  the  madman's  act.  But  I 
rejoice  that  Mrs.  Craig  is  using  her  great  influence 
for  good.  " 

"She  is,"  White  answered.  "She  is  a  splendid 
woman  in  every  way.     She  has  quite  captured  me!  " 

"  Love  me,  love  m}^  aunt  I  "  Darrell  laughed  ;  but  his 
senior  quickly,  and  rather  uneasih',  cried : 

"What  nonsense  you  talk,  Fred!  I  have  onh-^  seen 
Mrs.  Craig's  niece  three  times !  " 

"Selfdefense  is  half  accusation!  "  thejunior  retorted. 
"Is  it  not,  Colonel  Latham?  But  he  is  excusable. 
I  onlv  wish  '  Phil  Sheridan '  were  my  horse,  and  I 
w^ere  to  ride  with  her  this  evening.  I'm  half  jealous 
of  my  chief,  as  it  is.  " 

"But, Darrell,"  White  protested,  "Colonel  Latham 
does  not  know  Miss  Freeman.  " 

At  the  name,  Latham  felt  the  blood  surge  to  his 
face ;  and  he  looked  far,  through  the  windows,  across 
the  Potomac,  as  he  answered  : 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UiNIONIST.  277 

"No,  but  her  name  recalled  that  of  friends,  when  I 
served  in  Alabama. " 

' '  Alabama !  Why  I  thought  you  served  in  Virginia !  " 
White  cried,  suddenly ;  and  his  hand  mechanically 
went  toward  a  half  opened  drawer. 

"I  did,  mostly;  but  one  summer  I  hunted  deserters 
about  Sand  Mountain,  while  I  served  under  General 
Forrest. " 

A  strange  expression  passed  across  White's  face, 
now  turned  steadily  to  the  speaker.  Then  he  said 
slowly,  and  as  though  hj  accident : 

"I  was  with  Colonel  Streight,  when  Forrest  gob- 
bled us.  Were  you  opposite  us  when  we  crossed  the 
Tennessee?  " 

"If  you  will  swear  not  to  hang  me,  I'll  confess," 
the  Southerner  answered,  laughing.  "I  held  that 
crossing  by  dummy  fires,  and  by  running  the  legs 
nearl}^  off  m^-  nine  men, — playing  army  in  front!  " 

White  sprang  up,  extending  his  hand:  "Shake! 
No  other  man  ever  so  deceived  Streight ;  ever  made 
such  an  ass  of  an  advance  commander !  No !  I  know, 
I  guess;  I  led  it!  " 

The  late  foes  shook  hands  warmly,  laughing  over 
the  incident;  but  Latham  grew  grave  again.  Once 
more  his  gaze  wandered  out  over  the  Potomac ;  as 
memory  recalled  another  night,  when  she  had  come 
through  dark  and  rain,  and  those  wild  days  succeed- 
ing. Once  more  his  heart  grew  chill  with  dread,  then 
bounded  with  joy  and  pride  unspeakable,  as  he 
strained  her  to  it,  and  Forrest's  voice,  high  over  hoof 
and  cannon,  called :  "Well  done,  sir !  " 


278  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

But  he  came  back  to  the  present  suddenly ;  for 
White  was  staring  at  him  keenh^  as  he  said : 

"Mrs.  Senator  Craig  is  an  Alabamian.  Perhaps 
those  Freemans  you  knew  were  also  relatives  of 
hers?" 

" Impossible ;  they  w^ere  plain  countrj^  people," 
Latham  answered.  The  idea  that  had  sprung  into 
his  mind  when  Stella  called  the  name  had  been  dis- 
missed from  it.  But  he  wondered  at  the  strange 
expression  in  White's  ej-es,  as  he  added:  "I  am  all 
the  prouder  to  call  you  my  friend  now.  White;  for,  as 
Colonel  Damas  sa\'s:  'We  never  know  how  much 
we  like  a  man,  until  we  have  fought  him  ! '  " 

"This  makes  romance  of  the  war  number  two, 
White,"  laughed  Darrell;  and,  spite  of  the  other's 
warning  glance,  he  went  on:  "The  other,  'tenderer 
far  to  tell,'  w^as  in  that  same  raid,  where  you  plaj^ed 
him  off  so! " 

'^You  had  a  romance  there?"  Latham  cried,  sud- 
denly'. 

"Scarcely  that;  only  an  odd  adventure,"  White 
replied  uneasily,  "not  worthy  of  that  name." 

"Wasn't  it?  What  would  j^ou  call  it.  Colonel 
Latham,"  the  inveterate  chaffer  ran  on  glibh%  "if 
a  fellow  carried  through  the  war  a  scrap  of  ribbon, 
once  blue,  but  now  tri-color  from  camp  dirt  ?  " 

Latham  colored  to  the  very  roots  of  his  hair;  but 
feeling  White's  inquisitorial  glance,  though  he  could 
comprehend  no  reason  for  it — he  answered,  gravely : 

"Not  a  romance,  necessarily,  captain.  I  did  that; 
but " — he  drew  the  dented  locket  from  his  breast — "it 
was  on  the  portraits  of  mother  and  sister." 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  279 

"  May  I  see  them  ?  "  White  asked,  eagerly  extending 
his  hand ;  and  now  his  face  was  the  one  that  flushed 
as  Stella's  pictured  eyes  met  his.  Yet,  his  left  them^ 
gazing  on  that  frayed' and  faded  knot  of  blue;  and 
again  his  hand  wandered  to  the  half  opened  drawer, 
just  as  the  clock  chimed  the  quarter  to  noon. 

Discipline  bowled  out  sentiment.  The  soldier 
sprang  up,  handing  back  the  locket  with  a  parting 
glance  at  Stella's  face,  as  he  said : 

"I  must  leave  you  with  Darrell  now.  Pardon 
want  of  ceremony,  but  the  general  wants  me  at 
noon." 

"No,  I  will  walk  with  you,"  Latham  answered. 
"I  have  an  engagement  at  that  hour,  and  with  even 
a  bigger  man  than  General  Grant ! ' ' 

"Treason  again!"  Darrell  laughed.  "And  in  the 
very  Department  of  War!  By  Jove!  you  Virginians 
do  beat  the  world  !  "  he  added  glancing  at  the  square, 
plain-enveloped  card  Latham  had  extended  :  "Listen  ! 
'The  president  will  receive  Mr.  Latham  of  Virginia, 
at  twelve  o'clock  this  day ' !" 

"You  forget,  Virginia  is  the  mother  of  presidents," 
White  answered. 

"Rather,  the  grandmother,  now,"  Latham 
retorted.  "And  not  of  all  presidents.  She  has  not 
yet  adopted  Andy  Johnson.  But  he  can  be  of  infi- 
nite good  to  my  suffering  compatriots ;  and  I  am 
grateful  for  this  opportunity  he  gives  me  to  speak 
for  them,  to  him !  " 

White  had  buttoned  his  coat  and  taken  his  hat, 
ready  to  move ;  but  suddenly,  missing  some  paper, 
he  opened  the  drawer  and  hastily  pulled  out  several. 


280  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

As  he  did  so — nnnoted  by  him — a  faded  strip  of  blue 
ribbon  fell  fluttering  to  the  floor.  But  Latham's 
eyes  w^ere  riveted  upon  it ;  his  face  flushed  hotly,  then 
grew  deadly  pale.  As  in  a  flash  of  lightning,  the 
midnight  figure  at  the  farm  stood  before  him.  Like 
a  knell  the  words  of  the  old  cripple  sounded  in  his 
ears!  For  this  trifle  "light  as  air"  was  to  his  mor- 
bid brooding  "confirmation  strong"  of  his  most 
horrible  suspicion.  There  was  no  doiibt  now  of 
Jen's  falsity  to  herself,  if  not  to  him ;  for  he  could 
have  sworn  to  that  ribbon,  its  jagged  end  severed  by 
his  own  knife ! 

This  was  White's  romance!  The  knot  of  ribbon 
had  been  gage  of  love  from — her.  White  was  the 
Yankee  rival,  of  whom  the  doting  cripple  had 
wrarned  him !  But  White,  busy  on  his  search,  noted 
neither  Latham's  tell-tale  face,  nor  the  loss  of  his 
trophy.    But  Darrell,  stooping  for  it,  cried  gaily : 

"You'll  lose  your  romance  ribbon,  recreant 
knight!" 

White  turned  quickly,  took  the  ribbon  and  thrust 
it  hastih^  in  his  breast ;  then  said  to  Latham: 

"I  am  at  3'our  service  now." 
Neither  spoke  until  they  reached  the  dividing  gate 
of  the    W^hite  House  grounds,   about  to  separate. 
Then,  after  brief  "good-morning,"  White  stared  after 
the  other,  saying  to  himself: 

"By  Jove!  but  the  world  is  very  small.  iJe  cer- 
tainly is  the  man;  but  can  she  be  Miss  Hartley's 
friend?  Pshaw!  'tis  only  odd  coincidence;  but  I  will 
find  out  this  afternoon." 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  281 

It  was  a  noteworthy-  couple  that  galloped  across 
the  Georgetown  bridge,  a  while  before  sunset ;  both 
sitting  their  fine  horses  like  masters  of  that  exercise 
which  witches  worlds.  The  lady's  tailor-made  habit 
plainly  spoke  its  Paris  fashioning;  adding  to  the 
perfection  of  her  perfectly  developed  figure,  lissome 
and  natural  as  that  of  a  wood  nymph.  The  coiled 
masses  of  her  hair  flushed  warm  to  the  kiss  of  the 
declining  sun ;  and  the  slim,  gauntletted  hands  con- 
trolled "Phil  Sheridan's"  fretful  head  with  graceful 
ease.  And,  not  without  pride.  Colonel  White  noted 
the  glances  of  admiration  that  followed  the  pair,  as 
the^^  passed  around  the  White  House  grounds  and 
struck  for  the  Arlington  bridge. 

But  only  the  pleasant  chatter  of  societ\' — picked 
out  by  the  woman's  keen  dissection  of  composite 
architecture,  or  quick  criticism  of  not  wholh'  artistic 
statuary — occupied  them,  as  they  crossed  the  broad 
Potomac,  now  cool  after  the  kiss  of  the  sun,  that 
only  paused  to  gild  the  heights  of  Arlington.  From 
them,  as  the  horses  rested,  both  looked  back  over 
wdde-reaching  panorama  of  street  and  dome  and 
spire,  fronted  by  wide-parked  public  grounds,  and 
already  showing  long  vistas  of  blinking  lights. 
Then  the  man  said,  suddenU' : 

**  Travel  broadens  one  greatly.  Miss  Freeman." 

"An  accepted  truism,  colonel,"  she  answered  with 
her  frank  smile.     "  But  what  called  it  up  just  then  ?  " 

"Your  clever  comment,  as  we  rode  up  here,"  he 
said,  simpU',  "coupled  with  some  wonder  as  to  what 
you  would  have  said  of  all  this  in — well — say,  in 
August,  1863." 


282  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"I  should  have  been  struck  dumb  with  wonder 
then,"  she  answered.    "I  was  a  simple  countr\^  girl." 

"How  long  were  3'ou  abroad?  "  he  asked,  quickl^^ 

"Since  that  Yer3'  year;  in  the  autumn." 

"And  you  ran  the  blockade,  because  you  were  tired 
of  the  war?     Because  you  feared  its  privations  ?" 
She  looked  very  grave,  but  still  answered  calmly : 

"No,  I  went  because  papa  insisted,  and  an  aunt  in 
Wilmington  urged  its  advantages." 

"And,  for  them,  you  turned  your  back  upon  all  the 
romance  of  the  war?  Pardon  me,  but  I  presume 
ever^'  Southern  girl  saw — or  dreamed  of— some  pretty 
romance  in  it !  " 

"  Why  should  you  ?  "  she  asked,  graveh'.  "  We  felt 
sympathy,  suspense,  pity;  but  these  are  not  the 
basis  of  romance.  It  was  all  so  dift'erent,  on  our 
side,  from  Avhat  you  knew,  on  this." 

"Perhaps,"  he  answered,  "but  much  of  these 
abided  with  us,  also,  especially  in  such  times  as  For- 
rest was  chasing  Colonel  Streight  and  me  outof  3'our 
neighborhood." 

"  Fou  were  down  there?"  Jen  exclaimed.  Then 
suddenly  a  burning  blush  overspread  cheeks,  brow 
and  neck ;  and  she  gazed  across  the  river  steadily,  as 
she  asked : 

"  Did  3'ou  stay  long  ?     Did  you  know  anyone  ?" 

"Not  longer  than  it  took  m^^  horse  to  carry  me 
out  of  Forrest's  reach,  before  he  gobbled  us,"  White 
answered  frankly.  "And  the  onh'  person  I  remem- 
ber is  your  pretty  friend — Miss  Hartley !  " 

Jen  Freeman  tvirned  full  to  her  companion,  not 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  283 

blushing  now,  but  very  pale,  tiiougli  the  evening 
glow  was  warm  upon  her  hair. 

"Colonel  White,"  she  said  with  quiet  dignity,  "we 
are  almost  strangers ;  but,  even  so,  it  is  best  that  we 
should  not  deal  in  riddles.  You  are  doubtless  the 
Union  officer  who  spoke  my  name  to  Miss  Hartley, 
so  much  to  her  surprise."  She  paused  an  instant; 
but  as  he  did  not  interrupt,  she  went  on  braveh-: 
"Your  courtesy  to  her  then,  and  to  me  later,  no  less 
than  3'our  position  here,  assure  me  that  you  have 
made  no  improper  use  of— of  any  surmise  of  your 
own  about  any  chance  trophy  jou  may  have  cap- 
tured from — a  woman !  " 

"I  thank  you  sincerely  for  your  confidence  in  my 
honor.  Miss  Freeman,"  the  Northern  soldier 
answered,  lifting  his  hat.  "I  should  blush  for  our 
uniform  if  I  thought  it  covered  any  man,  who  could 
misuse  an  accident  like  that.  You  cannot  object  to 
riddles  more  than  I ;  but  I  must  correct  your  belief 
that  we  are  strangers.  Since  1863,  I  have  carried  in 
my  heart  a  true  and  sincere  admiration  for  a 
woman,  brave  and  generous  enough  to  risk  her  life 
for  that  of  her  defender!  For  all  those  years  I  have 
safely  kept  what  you  call  m\"  'chance  trophy;'  and, 
— whatever  story  it  may  have — I  have  breathed  no 
word  of  to  man  or  woman." 

"I  believe  you,  sir!  "  the  girl  said,  earnestly. 

"Then,  if  you  be  Miss  Hartley's  friend,  this  has 
been  kept  only  in  trust  for  you." 

He  drew  the  ribbon  from  his  breast,  handing  it  to 
her,  his  head  still  uncovered. 


284  JOHN    H OLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"You  are  a  brave,  true  man,  Colonel  White! "  Jen 
cried  in  her  old,  impulsive  way.  "Anj'thing  that 
this  scrap  of  silk  recalls  matters  not.  Suffice  it  that 
I  thank  you  sincerely  and  regard  your  conduct  that 
of  a  true  friend !  " 

She  thrust  the  ribbon  into  her  bosom ;  then  held 
out  her  hand  frankl}^;  and  the  man  took  it  in  his 
with  all  the  deference  due  to  her  sex,  but  with  the 
w^arm  grasp  of  a  comrade. 

"You  understand  that  I  have  had  no  opportunity 
to  mention  this  before,"  he  said,  quietly,  "and  I  had 
to  be  certain  before  I  dared  to  speak.  I  should  now 
add  that  I  shall  not  refer  to  this  again ;  and  that — 
finding  this  upon  a  bush  that  night,  I  spoke  to  Aliss 
Hartley,  more  in  jest  than  earnest,  when  I  chanced 
i:o  hear  that  you  were  her  guest." 

For  one  instant  Jen  Freeman's  brown  eyes — better 
trained  now",  than  when  she  had  lost  that  ribbon — 
studied  his  face.     The  next  she  said,  very  gently: 

"Again,  I  thank  you  from  my  heart.  Now  -we 
must  gallop  home.  Aunt  Virginia  will  expect  me 
-earlv,  for  Mrs.  Dent's  musicale  to-night." 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

A    PRESIDENT,    BY    PISTOL    SHOT. 

Whex  Latham  left  Colonel  White,  and  strode 
toward  the  presidential  mansion,  it  required  all  his 
will  to  coerce  his  brain  to  some  thought  of  the  grave 
matters  he  must  consider  in  the  coming  interview. 
Will,  sense  of  duty,  and  self-respect  combined  against 
memory ;  but  his  brain  would  whirl  in  a  chaos  of 
ideas,  through  which,  spite  of  every  effort,  floated 
that  faded  knot  of  ribbon — proof  to  him  now  of  his 
very  \vorst  suspicions.  But,  by  supreme  effort  of 
will,  he  forced  his  mind  to  that  strange  course  of 
destiny — or  of  chance? — which  had  carried  Andrew 
Johnson  to  the  highest  office  in  the  gift  of  the  nation. 
In  early  life  a  tailor  for  many  years,  at  the  town  of 
Greenville,  Tennessee,  that  crude  but  vigorous  North 
Carolinian  had  developed  traits  which  could  but 
command  the  respect  even  of  an  ultra  Southerner. 
Wholly  self-educated,  without  the  aid  of  even  com- 
mon schools,  he  had  forced  his  \vay,  through  every 
grade  of  civic  office  and  state  legislature,  to  the 
national  congress ;  and,  elected  to  it  as  a  democrat, 
in  1843,  had  served  for  five  successive  terms.  Thence 
he  had  been  twice  governor  of  Tennessee,  leaving  the 
chair  only  to  take  one  in  the  United  States  senate; 


286  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

and  to  become  there  the  pronounced  and  bitter 
Unionist,  whose  choice  for  vice  president  in  1864-  was 
plain  political  sequence  of  his  appointment  as  mili- 
tary governor  of  his  state,  two  years  previous  to 
that  date. 

Essentially  a  self-made  man,  Andrew  Johnson  was 
a  born  politician ;  and  his  sleepless  ambition  was 
backed  by  indomitable  energy  and  will,  and  b\'  that 
rare  power  of  biding  his  time.  Yet  his  wildest 
dreams,  perhaps,  had  never  brought  this  final  verifi- 
cation of  the  truism  that  "All  things  come  to  him 
who  waits."  But  his  opportunity  came  \vith  that 
alarm  of  the  ultra  party,  inspired  by  the  candidacy 
of  that  pure  and  popular  soldier — believed  by  the 
masses  of  the  North  to  be  a  martyr  to  prejudice — 
George  B.  McClellan.  Republican  leaders  eagerW 
cast  about  for  a  Southern  Unionist  for  second  place  on 
the  Lincoln  ticket;  and  availability  pointed  straight 
to  Andrew  Johnson  as  the  only  possible  Southern 
republican. 

Then — following  the  few^  weeks  that  he  occupied 
the  second  chair — came  the  hideous  and  senseless 
crime  which  deprived  the  whole  nation  of  its  head 
and  of  its  hope,  and  riveted  the  shackles  about  the 
wrists  of  one  half  of  it.  And  then  the  hand  that  had 
patched  breeches  on  the  village  bench  took  firm  grasp 
of  the  helm  of  state,  at  that  moment  of  stress  and 
storm,  most  critical  of  any  in  our  history. 

As  much  as  any  man  in  the  land,  Mr.  Johnson  had 
felt  the  scourging  whips  of  sectional  prejudice  in  his 
own  person.  Misjudgment,  invective  and  oppro- 
"brious  epithet  had  been  hurled  at  him,  not  only  in  his 


JOHN    HOLDEX,    UNIONIST.  287 

native  and  adopted  states,  but  from  all  their  sisters 
of  the  South ;  and  their  echoes  had  traveled  far  north 
of  the  imaginary  division  line ; 

Returning  not  to  bless,  but  deeply  damn, 

-with  exceptional  virulence  of  party  method.  He  had 
been  denounced  not  only  as  a  traitor  to  his  section, 
but  an  enemy  to  his  country;  and  there  was  suf- 
ficient force  in  some  of  the  counts  of  the  indictment 
to  make  them  all  rankle  the  more  bitterly.  For 
Andrew  Johnson  was  by  no  means  a  perfect  charac- 
ter in  private,  any  more  than  he  w^as  a  truly  great 
one  in  public.  He  w^as  one  product  of  that  stormy 
period  of  ante-bellum  politics,  succeeding  the  repeal 
of  the  Missouri  compromise ;  and,  in  his  time,  he 
doubtless  had  been  an  arrant  demagogue.  But  cold, 
clear-headed  and  watchful,  he  had  nerve  sufficient  to 
sink  the  person  in  the  politician ;  and  it  is  probable 
that  spite  had  far  less  to  do  wnth  the  changes  of 
his  career  than  had  careful  judgment,  veered  by  the 
steady  set  of  selfish  ambition. 

None  could  allege,  however,  that  the  president  had 
been  inconsistent  in  his  devotion  to  the  Union,  from 
his  first  stand  against  secession ;  nor  had  he  lacked 
the  courage  to  maintain  his  rights,  wdien  he  once 
believed  he  knew  them.  And  now,  Latham  recalled 
the  first  and  only  time  that  he  had  seen  the  president. 
He  had  chanced  at  Montgomery,  the  "Cradle  of 
the  Confederacy,"  at  the  moment  the  Third  Alabama 
regiment  departed  for  Virginia.  This  corps  d elite 
was  made  up  of  "crack"  volunteer  companies  from 
Alabama  cities ;  and  it  went  forth  with  drum  beats 


288  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

and  sentiment  and  high  hopes — later  echoed  by 
waiHng  and  despair  in  many  an  Alabama  mansion — 
in  late  April  of  1861.  Latham  accompanied  "the 
boys,"  himself  a  stripling  truant  from  school;  and 
on  that  train  he  took  his  first  object  lesson  in  politi- 
cal ^var. 

Tennessee  had  not  yet  seceded,  but  hung  in  the 
sensitive  balance  as  "a  doubtful  state;"  so  at  Dal- 
ton,  beyond  her  lines,  the  men  were  especially  cau- 
tioned by  their  officers  that  they  were  about  to  pass 
across  "neutral  ground;"  and  strict  orders  were 
given  for  prudence,  quiet  and  avoidance  of  any  pos- 
sible overt  act.  But  at  Knoxville,  it  was  learned 
that  Andrew  Johnson  had  been  making  a  pro-Union 
speech  that  day  at  a  station  above,  and  that  the  sol- 
diers' train  would  pass  his  within  an  hour.  Again 
the  officers  warned  the  Alabamians ;  enjoining  abso- 
lute silence,  as  the  trains  passed.  This  order  was 
obeyed  by  the  men  in  the  front  cars ;  but  those 
behind  them,  catching  sight  of  the  great  and  hated 
Tennesseean,  sent  up  a  wild  howl  of  derision,  hate 
and  devilry  which  their  comrades  could  not  resist. 
High  over  steam  and  w^heels — spite  of  the  quickly 
blown  and  continued  whistles  of  both  engines — went 
up  a  cry  which  made  even  that  fearless  publicist  turn 
pale,  as  Andrew  Johnson  dashed  by,  sitting  silent, 
but  -with  his  hat  pulled  far  down  over  his  face.  No 
indignity  was  offered,  beyond  that  vocal  reproba- 
tion; but  that  was  bitter,  wild  and  vengeful  enough 
to  be  considered  the  true  sire  of  every  succedent 
"rebel  yell."* 

*  This  incident  is  literally  true ;  described  by  an  eye  witness. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  289 

The  bitterness  and  severity  of  Mr.  Jolinson's 
earlier  course  against  the  states  lately  in  rebellion, 
was  not  a  source  of  surprise  to  those  who  had 
studied  his  record ;  but  these  were  astounded  at  its 
radical  change  under  the  seeming  honest  impulse  of 
duty  he  believed  he  owed  to  his  high  position,  and 
the  oath  he  had  taken  on  assuming  it.  In  place  of 
bitter  vindictiveness  had  come  the  firmly  asserted 
intent  to  protect  the  conquered  section  from  illegal 
congressional  aggression ;  and  Southern  men,  espe- 
cially such  as  Latham,  found  it  easy  to  obtain  access 
to  the  head  of  the  nation.  For  the  young  Virginian 
— following  the  wiser  teachings  of  advanced  think- 
ers like  Wade  Hampton — was  not  only  read}^  to 
accept  the  results  of  the  war  as  final,  but  also  to  make 
best  endeavor  to  use  the  delicate  and  uncertain  situ- 
ation for  the  greatest  attainable  common  good. 
But  such  Southerners  as  approached  Andrew  John- 
son soon  learned  that  they  must  have  something  to 
say  beyond  personal  gain,  flattery  or  flippant  com- 
monplace, if  they  desired  a  second  interview  with 
the  baited  and  overworked  executive. 

As  Latham  waited  his  audience,  he  noted  that 
neither  the  corridors  of  the  White  House  nor  the 
rooms  he  glanced  into,  gave  much  evidence  of  neat- 
ness or  care.  It  was  plain  that  the  president  had 
too  much  on  his  mind  just  then  to  waste  thought  on 
domestic  economy  of  his  household ;  and  this  proof 
of  absorption  in  weighty  affairs,  perhaps,  fixed  his 
own  excited  mind  now  calmly  upon  them.  So  he 
was  cool  and  earnest,  when  the  private  secretary 


290  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

announced  that  he  could  enter  the  private  cabinet  of 
the  arbiter  of  much  he  had  at  heart. 

As  he  did  so,  a  man  of  ordinary  mould,  to  the 
casual  glance,  rose  from  a  desk  littered  with  piles  of 
documents,  and  welcomed  him  with  a  curt  nod.  The 
form  was  that  of  one  in  preserved  middle  life,  of 
medium  height,  thickset,  and  still  showing  vigorous 
strength  and  active  energy.  The  full  face  \vas 
strong,  but  smooth,  speaking  firmness  of  resolve  and 
indomitable  self-reliance;  and  the  broad,  square  brow 
was  overhung  by  careless  locks  of  iron  gray  hair. 
A  shade  of  care  and  annoyance  w^as  on  the  president's 
face,  clouding  it  as  though  his  last  visitor  had  left  no 
very  pleasant  impression.  But  he  spoke  courteously, 
if  bluntly,  as  Lathain  returned  his  salutation : 

"I  am  glad  to  see  you,  sir,  as  an  honest  Virginian." 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  President,"  Latham  replied.  "I 
fully  appreciate  your  promptness  in  granting  me  an 
interview." 

"It  is  not  a  matter  of  grace,  sir.  These  things  are 
mutual,"  Mr.  Johnson  answered.  "It  is  no  less  a 
relief  than  it  is  a  necessity  to  meet  men  like  yourself; 
men  who  have  no  private  axes  to  grind  and  are  not 
seeking  office  for  themselves,  or  friends.  Did  you 
notice  the  man  who  left  me  just  as  you  entered? 
Well,  he  is  a  Union  man  from  Tennessee.  He  claims 
to  have  so  suffered  and  sacrificed  himself  for  the 
cause  of  principle — and  possibly  he  speaks  the  truth — 
that  he  deserves  to  be  made  a  saint.  But,  as  I  can- 
not do  that  for  him,  he  demands  the  best  paj-ing 
office  in  my  gift,  within  his  district.  I  presume  you 
have  found  out  that  patriotism  has  an  eye  open  to 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  291 

pav,  in  these  times  on  which  we  have  fallen.  Love 
of  country  is  not  satisfying  to  any  Southern  loj-alist, 
unless  accompanied  by  an  office.  The  fatter  the 
office,  the  bluer  his  loyalty !  "  * 

"I  doubt  not  that  there  is  much  unselfish  patriot- 
ism left  in  this  country,  Mr.  President,"  the  Virginian 
answered,  "biit  I  doubt,  also,  if  most  of  it  centers  in 
"Washington." 

"You  are  right,  sir;  perfectly  right !  "  the  president 
exclaimed.  "God  knows  I  am  trying  to  deal  justly 
by  the  whole  country.  But  there  are  grave  matters 
which  must  largeh^  be  left  to  readjust  themselves, 
before  v\re  can  heal  the  w^ounds  made  by  the  Rebel- 
lion! You  see,  sir — every  honest  man  must  see — on 
what  quibbles  congress  endeavors  to  thwart  my 
every  effi^rt  to  the  real  end !  " 

"It  was  upon  that  very  point  I  desired  to  speak  to 
you,  sir,"  Latham  replied.  "I  wish  to  ascertain 
truly  what  chance  the  people  of  Virginia — of  course  I 
mean  the  w^hite  people — have  to  get  control  of  affairs, 
w^hich  they  alone  can  control." 

"The  suffrage,  as  now^  existent — disfranchisement 
for  cause  and  without  cause — are  the  obstacles  to 
surmount,  sir.  Your  people  wnll  have  to  bide  their 
time,  Mr.  Latham ;  and  thc}^,  in  common  with  those 
of  the  whole  South,  must  muzzle  their  demagogues. 
If  the  leaders  wnll  not  be  discreet  from  principle — 
damn  it,  sir !  the  followers  must  force  them  to  be  so, 
from  policy!" 

"I  am  deeply  curious  about  the  outcome  of  con- 
gressional obstruction,"  Latham  said,  gravely. 

*Andre\v  Johnson's  own  -words. 


292  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"Of  course  you  are!  The  whole  country'  must  be 
so,"  Mr.  Johnson  retorted  quickly.  "But  you  can- 
not expect  me  to  know  more  of  it  than  you,  or  any 
honest  man.  I  am  neither  a  prophet  nor  the  son  of 
a  prophet ;  and  I  would  be  probably  the  last  man  to 
get  the  real  truth,  from  anyone  who  comes  to  me. 
It  has  grown  to  a  political  principle  that  the  proper 
lie,  well  stuck  to,  will  serve  better!  But  one  thing 
\'ou  can  depend  upon,  sir,"  the  president  rose,  lock- 
ing his  hands  behind  him,  and  facing  his  visitor 
frankly,  "I  will  do  the  best  that  is  in  me  to  protect 
the  states  lately  in  rebellion  in  their  reserved  rights. 
State's  rights  now  become  a  matter  of  national 
rights ;  but  congress  has  come  to  believe  that  all 
rights  begin  in  one  wing  of  the  capitol  and  end  in  the 
other.  Northern  people  are  now  instructed  to  think 
that  you  of  the  South,  who  took  part  in  the  Rebel- 
lion, have  no  political  rights ;  but,  in  that  phrase 
they  include  all  rights — civil,  social  and  personal!  " 

"  I  realize  that  fulh',  sir, ' '  Latham  answered.  ' '  But 
with  us  in  Virginia,  just  now,  social  and  personal 
rights  are  the  Aaron's  rod,  that  swallows  all  the 
rest." 

"Whv,  sir,"  the  president  went  on,  "immediately 
after  the  peace,  a  bare  minority  of  republican  mem- 
bers was  clamorous  to  relegate  every  secession  state 
to  a  territorial  form  of  government.  I  ma}-  have 
had  some  sentiment  that  way  myself;  for  I  tell  you, 
Mr.  Latham," — the  speaker  began  to  walk  the  room 
slowly,  keeping  his  ej^es  on  his  hearer, — "in  the  first 
intoxication  of  success,  we  were  a  set  of  damned 
fools !     But  reason  soon  set  sentiment  aside ;  for  how 


JOHN    HOLDEiX,    UNIONIST.  293 

could  we  keep  that  Union,  for  which  we  had  spent 
so  much  blood  and  more  treasure,  by  putting  out 
now  those  we  had  just  whipped  in — whom  we  had 
persistently  declared  had  no  right  to  go  out?  " 

"The  congressional  paradox  seems  to  be,  Mr. 
President :  '  Preserve  the  Union,  by  destroj-ing  it ! '  " 

"Precisely,  Mr.  Latham.  Damn  it,  sir!  those 
ultras  in  congress  are  the  new  secesh !  But,  sir,  the 
sturdy  common  sense  of  this  country  will  permit  no 
such  legislated  suicide  when  it  shall  have  had  the 
time  to  reach  upon  blatant  greed  for  re-election ;  and 
meantime,  I  shall  meet  every  move  the^^make  against 
the  just  rights  of  the  states  by  showing  them  the 
vital  rights  of  the  Union !  " 

The  president  was  deeply  in  earnest,  evidently ;  but 
he  showed  no  excitement,  in  face  or  gesture,  further 
than  his  restless  walk  and  occasional  lapse  into 
habitual — if  not  most  dignified — forms  of  speech. 
Deep  refinement  w^as  not  the  forte  of  the  president, 
perhaps;  but  "scratching  him  with  a  pin"  was  not 
proved  to  be  a  safe  operation,  so  perhaps  no  man 
knew  how"  deep  below  Andrew  Johnson's  cuticle  was 
to  be  found  "the  Tartar."  Suddenly  he  stopped  in 
front  of  his  visitor;  unclasjDcd  the  hands  behind  him, 
and  said  simpU- : 

"But  all  talk  is  dry.  Mr.  Latham,  w^ill  you  try  a 
glass  of  sherry  ?  Or,  do  you  prefer  a  nip  of  good  old 
Tennessee  whisky?"  He  pointed  to  a  small  ante- 
room, as  he  added:  "I  wnll  vouch  for  its  'lo^-alty,' 
sir;  but  that  need  not  offend  a  sensible  man." 

Realizing  that  it  was  not  every  day  that  a  freshly 
reconstructed  rebel  was  asked  to  drink  with  the  head 


294  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

of  the  new  .nation,  Latham  promptly  accepted;  and, 
still  standing  in  the  ante-room,  Mr.  Johnson  went 
on  gravely : 

"Ah !  you  like  it,  sir?  Now  we  can  look  at  the  sit- 
uation with  more  equanimity.  Do  3^ou  know  what 
will  be  the  outcome  of  this  struggle,  as  far  as  I  am 
personally  concerned  ?  " 

"It  will  end  by  your  ability  to  teach  the  congress 
some  reason,  I  hope,"  was  the  frank  reply. 

"No,  sir!  It  is  too  soon  after  the  war  for  calm 
reason  to  Avin,  I  am  confident.  It  will  end  in  a  deter- 
mined effort  to  put  me  out  of  the  White  House,  sir ! 
And  I  tell  you  that  effort  will  be  made  before  many 
months.  You  can  go  back  and  tell  your  people  that 
Andrew  Johnson  will  be  president  of  the  United 
States,  so  long  as  he  is  president  at  all.  They  may 
make  a  new^  rebellion  in  Washington,  sir ;  but  so  far 
as  my  office  is  concerned,  the  old  rebellion  is  over! 
And  those  states,  lately  in  it,  shall  have  their  rights 
to  the  full  extent  that  they  are  given  by  the  statute 
la\v  and  the  decisions  of  the  supreme  court !  " 

"And  you  really  believe  that  the  house  of  repre- 
sentatives will  endeavor  to  impeach  you,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent?" 

"Why  not?  The  republican  majorit\^  find  me  the 
sole  obstacle  in  the  path  to  perpetuation  of  party  rule, 
through  negro  suffrage  and  disfranchisement  of 
ex-rebels  like  yourself!  The  earth  belongs  to  the 
saints  of  the  Lord,  Mr.  Latham;  and  the  majority 
alone  are  saints.  And  a  damned  nice  collection  of 
saints  that  is,  at  the  other  end  of  the  avenue,  sir !  " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  295 

"And  you  really  believe  in  the  attempt,  sir?"  the 
Virginian  again  asked,  earnestly. 

''That  is  precisely  what  I  mean  to  say,  sir.  They 
will  do  it  if  they  dare,  and  just  as  soon  as  they  dare. 
They  will  try  to  shift  the  real  cause  to  this  War 
Department  muddle.  I  do  not  believe  that  they  can 
make  General  Grant  a  nose  of  wax  in  their  dirty  fin- 
gers, sir;  but  Stanton  is  a  good  enough  Morgan.  If 
they  do  not  "ride  him  to  death,  he  will  be  their  war 
horse.  They  have  mounted  him  for  a  hobby, 
already." 

"But  your  friends  in  the  house?  Surely  they  can 
prevent  so  extreme  a  measure?"  Latham  queried. 

"They  are  scarcely  enough,  at  present,  even  to 
make  a  respectable  fight,  where  so  many  diverse  per- 
sonal interests  will  enter  into  it,"  the  president 
replied  thoughtfully,  seemingly  as  much  to  him- 
self as  to  his  listener.  "Congress,  at  this  moment, 
is  like  the  handle  of  a  jug;  pretty  much  on  one  side. 
But,  sir,  I  will  not  detain  you  with  personal  plaints. 
You  need  have  no  anxiety  about  this  matter.  I  shall 
manage  to  weather  this  storm.  Let  them  who  made 
it  look  to  their  own  safety !  But,  sir,  go  back  to 
your  people  and  tell  them  that,  if  the  man  sinks,  the 
principle  that  carried  him  down  will  rise  again.  As 
for  your  people,  tell  them  they  must  look  to  their 
own  life-preservers.  Warn  them  to  keep  quiet  and 
take  no  rash  steps ;  to  perform  every  political  and 
public  duty  possible;  and,  where  disfranchised,  to 
petition  congress  constantly  for  removal  of  disabili- 
ties.   If  this  congress  refuses,  the  next  one  may  not. 


296  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

In  a  short  while  you  will  have  your  chance,  sir ;  and 
then  I  hope  to  see  your  people  use  it  with  more  com- 
mon sense  than  the  South  has  usually  shown  when 
her  opportunities  came !  Good-bye,  sir ;  and  remem- 
ber to  tell  your  people  the  truth ! ' ' 


CHAPTER   XXIV.  | 

AFTER  LONG  YEARS. 

Mrs.  Dandridge  and  Stella  Latham  were  frequent 
— and  deeply  interested — visitors  to  the  senate  gal- 
lery in  those  days,  so  fraught  with  meaning  to  them ; 
for  the  future  of  their  loved  South  hung  in  the  sensi- 
tive balance. 

The  struggle  was  well  on,  between  that  imperious 
congress  which  brooked  no  interference  with  its  will, 
and  the  executive  who  had  turned  back  to  the  earlier 
paths  of  his  political  life.  And  in  that  gallery — while 
Latham  talked  to  the  president — the  two  ladies  met 
Mrs.  Dent,  an  acknowledged  "leader"  in  the  new 
society  of  the  capital.  Young,  handsome  and  very 
rich — by  recent  marriage  to  an  ex-contractor,  fat  in 
both  senses — Mrs.  Dent's  claim  to  lead  was  accepted 
by  grace  of  terrapin,  and  sealed  by  the  green  wax  of 
her  wine.  For  fe-w  indeed  troubled  themselves,  in 
those  days,  as  to  how  any  man  came  by  his  money, 
so  long  as  he  spent  it  freely;  and  the  present  specimen 
was  wholly  regardless  of  its  lavish  use  by  his  new 
wife.  He  was  proud  of  her  beauty,  and  of  her  knack 
for  drawing  about  her  notables  of  all  shades ;  and  the 
cara  sposa  herself,  while  a  notable  lion-hunter,  was 
frank,  genial  and  peculiarh-  independent.   She  openly 


298  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

declared  "Southern  people  decidedly  superior;"' 
avowing  herself  thoroughly  sick  of  political  bias  in 
social  matters,  and  "tired  to  death  of  having  the 
greatness  of  loyalty  thrust  in  one's  face." 

' '  Your  people  have  thoroughly  good  style,  my  dear, '  *' 
she  had  said  to  Stella.  "They  understand  the  conve- 
nances, and  do  not  bore  me  with  gaucheries,  like  the 
politicians  and  their  squaws!  Take  that  grand  Mrs. 
Craig,  for  example ;  there 's  no  woman  like  her  in  our 
society  to-day.  Mamma  says  she  was  the  leader  of 
the  senatorial  set,  ante  bellum.'"  But  Mrs.  Dent 
omitted  to  add  that  mamma's  knowledge  came 
through  fitting  Mrs.  Craig's  dresses  in  those  aristo- 
cratic days.  "But,  don't  \'ou  dare  forget,  my  dear. 
You  and  Mrs.  Dandridge  belong  to  me  this  evening. 
Only  a  little  affair — some  ninety  people ;  but  I  want 
you  to  meet  Mrs.  Craig,  and  hear  her  marvelous 
niece!  Such  a  beauty  and — sucA  a  voice!  Ah!  senator, 
you  could  not  resist  our  presence  ?  But  w^e  all  three 
came  hoping  to  hear  you  speak.  You  know  Mrs. 
Dandridge — and  Miss  Latham  ?  Staunch  rebels  both,, 
so  beware  what  you  say,  if  jou  repl}^  to  Mr.  Green. 
And,  senator,  you  must  come  this  evening.  I've 
caged  another  Southern  song-bird,  almost  equal  tO' 
Miss  Latham!" 

"You  mean  Miss  Freeman,  Mrs.  Dent?  She  has 
done  in  three  wrecks,  Miss  Latham,  what  j^our  Gen- 
eral Lee  failed  in  for  four  years.  She  has  captured 
Washington." 

"Yes ;  and  our  invulnerable  mutual.  Colonel  White,, 
has  surrendered  to  her,  rescue  or  no  rescue!"  Mrs. 
Dent  ran  on.     "I  onlv  wish  that  delightful  brother 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  299 

of  yours  were  ill  town,— What?  He  is!  Then  warn 
him  that  Dent  will  never  say  Virginia  again,  unless 
he  conies  with  you!  Ah!  there's  Dent  now,  at  the 
cloak-room  door.  Senator,  will  you  take  me  down  ? 
Au  revoir!  I'll  count  on  you  both  —  and  that 
brother!"  And  the  leader  swept  away,  radiant,  on 
the  senator's  arm. 

At  dinner,  Latham  tried  to  refuse,  pleading  busi- 
ness; but  Airs.  Dandridge  overruled  the  plea;  and 
soon  the  party  of  four — for  Mr.  Dandridge  was  per- 
mitted to  count  in  that  strange  household — were 
rolling  toward  Airs.  Dent's  gorgeous  palace,  in  the 
newest  Northwest  end. 

Latham  found  himself  in  an  alcove,  wdth  a  bright 
society  girl,  w^ho  turned  up  a  fine  Grecian  nose,  at  its 
present  mixture. 

"But  having  lived  here  alwa\^s,  you  must  know 
ever^'body,  Aliss  Alerritt,"  he  said. 

"No !  my  guardian  angel  is  merciful,"  she  answered. 
"There  are  cases  where  ignorance  is  bliss,  indeed! 
I  am  a  Yankee,  and  all  my  sympathies  were  on  the 
Northern  side ;  but  I  cannot  blind  myself  to  the  plain 
fact  that  the  struggle  to  save  our  Union  has  thrown 
some  strange  elements  into  our  society." 

"War  is  ever  a  great  demoralizer,"  he  answered, 
"especially  civil  war.  But,  perhaps  you  think  I 
should  say  '  rebellion  ?  '  " 

"Not  at  all,"  she  laughed.  "I  am  Union  to  the 
core,  but  do  not  sit  at  the  feet  of  Thaddeus  Stevens 
or  Ben  Wade.  I  can  leave  history  to  settle  the  name, 
now  that  we  have  won.    But  3'ou  did  not  come  ta 


300  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

hear  politics,  and  there  is  something  far  better.  Lis- 
ten!" 

"I  agree  with  you,"  he  answered,  lightly,  though 
Avith  a  proud  smile.  "But  I  hear  that  as  often  as 
politics.  Mrs.  Dent  is  showing  off  m\^  sister  Stella; 
>but  she  seems  to  be  singing  '  against  her  record  ! '  " 

"Or  her  rival,  possibly.  But  let  us  go  nearer," 
Miss  Merritt  added.     "I  must  hear  that  song." 

It  was  the  "Jewel  Song  "  of  the  then  new  "  Faust ;" 
and  the  music  was  "just  in  "  Miss  Latham's  voice. 
Run,  cadenza,  sustained  note  —  every  phrase  was 
<rlear,  pure  and  rounded  as  strung  pearls.  At  the 
finale,  general  applause  from  gloved  hands  was  led 
by  Colonel  White;  and,  leaning  over  her,  he  asked 
the  singer  something.  Again  the  Virginia  girl  sang ; 
this  time  an  even  more  difficult  selection,  from  "La 
Juive."  But,  as  she  finished,  Miss  Merritt 's  exclama- 
tion was  stopped  hj  a  stately,  beautiful  woman,  of 
middle  age,  leaning  on  the  arm  of  Baron  Grosswig,  a 
noted  diplomat. 

"Ah,  dear  Miss  Merritt!  "  she  said  pleasantly.  "I 
had  a  triumph  this  morning.  I  captured  your  papa, 
horse,  foot  and  dragoons !  He  promises  to  support 
us,  with  his  whole  delegation." 

"Dear,  good  papa!  He  knows  society  scripture: 
'Parents,  obey  your  children,'  Mrs.  Craig,"  the 
societv  girl  answered.  "When  you  captured  his 
daughter,  so  long  ago,  papa  could  do  nothing  else. 
But,  permit  me  to  present  a  compatriot  of  yours ; 
Mrs.  Craig — Mr.  Latham,  of  Virginia." 

"There  are  few  strangers  to  Colonel  Latham  at 
the  South,"  the  elder  lady  answered,   with    slight 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  301 

accent  on  the  title.  "We  must  shake  hands,  colonel ; 
for  your  mother  and  I  were  friends,  in  '  the  good  old 
days.'  I  was  just  saA'ing  to  the  baron — Colonel 
Latham,  Monsieur  le  Baron  von  Grosswig! — that  I 
must  ask  presentation  to  that  charming  sister  of 
yours." 

"She  haf  sink  moosic  een  heer  soul!  "  the  diplomat 
averred,  with  hand  upon  his  heart.  "I  veel  now 
preesent  madame — " 

As  they  passed  toward  the  piano,  Stella  rose, 
speaking  to  a  tall  girl  by  her.  Standing  with  her 
back  to  them,  the  other  showed  magnificent  neck  and 
arms — not  niggardly  displayed  by  cut  of  corsage; 
and,  bowing  her  stately  head,  she  sat  at  the  piano 
and  pla^-ed  the  prelude  to  Beethoven's  "Adelaide," 
singing  it  in  truly  artistic  style. 

"She  sings  wonderfully  well,"  Miss  Merritt  said  to 
Latham.  "Do  you  know  her?  She  is  a  stranger  to 
me." 

"And  to  me,  of  course,  as  an  outside  barbarian," 
he  answered,  as  a  crowd  closed  between  them  and 
the  singer.  "Some  noted  professional,  possibly; 
Mrs.  Dent  affects  them,  you  know." 

There  were  murmured  requests;,  then  the  clear, 
rich  voice  sang  another  German  ballad ;  and  then 
the  senator  of  the  morning  preferred  a  request. 

"Ah!  senator,  you  overpower  me,"  the  singer 
laughed.  "  But  I  could  not  possibly !  I  would  have 
to  be  a  brass  band  and  chorus  in  one,  to  sing  '  The 
Star  Spangled  Banner ' !  " 

"  Aw,weally,  you  're  wight,  ye  know,"  lisped  young 
Savile  Rowe,  of  her  majesty's  legation.     "Nawtional 


302  JOHN    HOLDEX,    UNIONIST. 

anthems  are  genewally  wot,  weally.  Sing  us  some- 
thing you  used  to  sing  duwing  the  rebellion,  ye 
know," 

Without  reply  the  woman  touched  the  keys ;  and 
next  instant  Latham  seemed  to  hear  a  different — 
but  never  forgotten  voice,  as  she  sang  "The  dew  is 
on  the  blossom."  And — ^whether  from  "psychic  force," 
who  may  guess  ? — he  seemed  to  see  a  distant  crest, 
through  a  dimity-draped  window;  a  framed 
"  Declaration  of  Independence"  hanging  above  the 
singer,  as  her  now  trained  voice  gave  the  homely 

words : 

I'll  be  sighing  for  you,  dearest. 
W'ill  YOU  ever  sigh  for  me? 

The  brilliant  company  and  gorgeous  furniture  dis- 
solved before  his  eyes ;  the  glaring  chandeliers  became 
soft  moonlight,  under  memory's  spell;  and  Beverly 
Latham  stood  again,  in  the  little  cottage  parlor,  as 
Jen  Freeman  sang  that  ballad  of— how  long  ago ! 

"Really,  Mr.  Latham,  I  had  no  idea  I  was  such  a 
narcotic !"  Miss Merritt  laughed.  "I  have  spoken  to 
you  three  times  without  reply ;  even  when  I  volun- 
teered to  get  you  an  introduction." 

"Apology  will  seem  needless,"  he  answered,  hastily, 
"when  I  tell  you  that  song  was  once  sung  often  b^^^ 
a  friend, — now^  dead  to  me !  Thanks  for  3'our  offer, 
but  I  see  that  Miss  Freeman  has  left — " 

"Miss  Freeman!  So  that  is  the  new  beauty? 
But  I  understood  you  to  say  she  was  a  stranger  to 
you?" 

"She  is — a  perfect  stranger,"  he  answered,  gravely. 
^'But  I  recosnize  her  voice." 


JOHN    HOLDKN,    UNIONIST.  303 

Just  then  Mrs.  Dent  bore  down  upon  them,  and  he 
hailed  in  her  an  angel  of  light,  as  she  cried : 

"I  looked  everywhere,  to  introduce  you.  Colonel 
Latham,  But  now,  j^ow  must  sing!  I  won't  take 
no  for  answer.  Then  we  '11  hunt  up  that  wicked  Mr. 
Rowe,  who  has  eloped  with  my  new  star !  " 

Latham  protested  that  he  was  ill,  out  of  practice, 
knew  nothing;  but  Mrs.  Dent  was  a  manager  who 
took  no  excuses  from  her  corps ;  and  he  consented, 
when  Miss  Merritt  volunteered  accompaniment.  "II 
Balen"  and  "The  Vagabonds,"  in  his  rich  sympa- 
thetic baritone,  brought  new  demands;  but  the 
senator  had  captured  Miss  Merritt,  and  Stella  was 
just  leaving  the  room  with  Colonel  White.  So, 
impelled  by  what  feeling  he  himself  could  not  have 
lold,  he  sat  down  and  sang — as  he  had  never  sung  it 
before — Schubert's  "Last  Greeting." 

And  the  Hon.  Savile  Rowe, — lisping  commonplace 
under  a  spreading  camelia  in  the  near  conservatory, 
stared  and  polished  his  monocle  afresh,  as  Jen 
Freeman  sat, — without  reply,  but  with  flushed 
cheeks  and  parted  lips, — hearing  those  familiar 
words : 

Adieu!    There  comes  a  morrow, 

To  every  day  of  pain  ; 
We  part,  to-night  in  sorrow  — 
To  meet  in  bliss  again! 

To  her — as  late  to  her  lover — the  old  song  swept  the 
present  resistlessly  aside;  and  memory's  "Persian 
•carpet"  bore  her,  through  space  and  time,  back  to 
that  little  parlor — still  home  to  her  heart ! 

For  Jen  Freeman  had  never  heard  of  her  old  lover, 


304  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIOxNlST. 

since  their  parting  after  the  battle ;  nor  was  she  the 
girl  to  let  romance  and  imagination  run  riot.  So,  she 
drew  no  fancy  pictures  of  his  prowess  and  his  new 
loves ;  merely  striving  to  banish  all  memor\^  of  him 
who  had  played  with  and  despised  her ;  who  had — 
perhaps  unwittingly — been  cause  of  all  her  Avoes, 
and  of  her  flight  from  them  and  home !  And,  with  a 
character  like  hers, — quick  to  take  the  impress  of 
higher  surroundings — several  years  of  study  and 
travel  could  work  vast  change.  "Auntie"  had  been 
generous  and  blockade  ventures  prosperous ;  so  she 
had  profited  by  best  advantages,  and  the  woman, 
no\v  waiting  her  father's  advent  at  the  capital,  w^as 
linguist,  musician  and  society  girl  of  the  higher  sort. 
The  mountain  daisy  had  been  replaced  by  the  well 
opened  rose. 

But — during  the  minutes  of  the  remembered  song, 
she  was  the  daisy  once  more ;  and  the  far-away  eyes, 
flushed  cheeks  and  parted  lips,  half  repeating  the 
w^ords,  all  told  that  memorv  of  the  old  davs — and 
of  him  who  now  called  them  back — was  neither  dead, 
not-  very  soundly  sleeping. 

But,  in  a  tithe  the  time  this  telling  takes — all  this 
had  passed  away.  Miss  Freeman — all  pose  and 
society  again — was  detailing  a  recent  Crj'stal  Palace 
concert  to  Mr.  Rowe,  when  Mrs.  Dent  bore  down 
upon  her  with  the  singer  of  "The  Last  Greeting." 

"So  I  have  found  the  fair  runaway.  Miss  Freeman, 
I  wish  to  present  Colonel  Latham!"  Mrs.  Dent 
gushed.  "He  is  dying  to  know  you,  naturally; 
kindred    spirits,   in   rebellion    and    in    music!      Mr. 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  305 

Rowe,  you  shall  do  penance  for  monopolizing  la 
belle  des  belles,  by  escorting  an  old  lady  ! ' ' 

Mrs.  Dent's  rattling  gush  of  speech  gave  man  and 
■woman  time  to  adjust  shield  and  brace  lance,  for  this 
unexpected  encounter;  and,  as  she  sailed  away  with 
the  captured  attache,  each  intuitively  recognized  the 
other's  feeling — without  anah^sis  of  their  own.  But 
it  was  the  woman  who  spoke  first : 

"A  most  unexpected  meeting.  Colonel  Latham.  I 
really  did  not  dream  you  were  in  Washington." 

"Assuredly  not,"  he  answered,  quietly.  "You  put 
my  modesty  to  great  strain,  for  it  to  presume  that  I 
were  in  your  thoughts  at  any  time." 

"Why  not?  "  she  replied,  with  perfect  manner.  "I 
have  not  grown  old  enough  to  lose  my  memory  ;  and 
you  were  once — an  acquaintance!  " 

"You  compliment  me  too  much,  now,"  he 
answered,  somewhat  piqued,  "by  even  remembering 
that.  So  many  of  those  acquaintances  were  like 
enlistments; — 'for  three  years,  or  the  war'." 

" Then  my  memory  must  have  'repealed  the  siib- 
stitute  act',"  she  answered,  as  lightlv  as  though 
speaking  of  the  weather ;  but  her  eyes  were  full  on: 
his,  as  she  continued  with  unchanged  inflection : 
"For  I  recall  perfectly  the  last  words  you  ever  said 
to  me,  commonplace  as  they  were." 

"Do  you  recall  them,"  he  asked,  quickly,  "to 
suggest  their  paraphrase  now  to  'Good-night,  Miss. 
Freeman'?  " 

"Not  at  all,"  she  answered  sweetly,  and  with 
unchanged  face ;  but  he  could  not  see  the  slim  hand 
shut  dangerously  on  the  frail  fan,  or  the  little  foot 

20 


306  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

press  hard  upon  the  floor.  "Why  should  I?  You 
had  perfect  right  to  correct  my  idle  boast  by  prov- 
ing that  your  memory  was  as  good  as  mine!  " 

The  shock  of  the  first  tilt  had  passed,  and  Jen 
sat  firmly  in  saddle,  the  fragments  of  his  lance  at  her 
feet.  But  the  man  reeled  with  the  recoil,  blushing 
hotly  as  he  reached  for  the  mace  of  accusation : 

"Do  3'ou  say  that  in  contempt — or  pity?  " 

"Neither!  "  she  replied,  with  the  slightest  elevation 
of  her  arched  eyebrows.  "Why  should  I  pit^^  so 
excellent  a  society  trait?  And  I  am  sure  Colonel 
Latham  could  never  imagine  himself  as  an  object  of 
— contempt  I ' ' 

"If  you  did  not  know  I  was  here,  why  did  you  sing 
the  old  song?"  he  retorted,  with  boyish  want  of 
tact;  and  there  was  just  a  tinge  of  irony  in  the 
reply : 

"Becaiise  Mr.  Rowe  asked  for  something  of  my 
simple  w^ar  days ;  and,  surely,  nothing  could  be  sim- 
pler than  those  words  !  " 

Even  if  he  knew  that  he  was  getting  badly  worsted 
in  the  encounter,  the  perfect  pose  of  his  antagonist 
so  chafed  him,  that  he  fell  into  petulance: 

"Pardon  the  absurdity  of  my  question,  praA^,"  he 
said,  "but,  with  j^our  excellence  of  memory,  you 
must  recall  that  I  always  did  absurd  things !  " 

"Yes,  but  people  are  so  apt  to  change.  Colonel 
Latham,"  she  answered  simply,  accepting  his  speech 
without  denial.  "You  have — in  voice  and  method. 
You  never  sang  the  Schubert  so  well  as  to-night." 

The  blow  caught  him  in  mid-shield ;  so  fairly  that 
he  reeled  blindly,  crying  out : 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  307 

"I  sang  it  because  I—"  But  he  stopped  short; 
blustering  Hke  a  weak  boy. 

"Because  it  is  pure,  simple  music,  that  you  learned 
in  pure  and  simple  days,"  Jen  Freeman  finished  for 
him.  "But,  I  had  not  asked  why;  only  compli- 
mented the  way  in  which  you  sang.  Permit  me  to 
do  the  same  for  Miss  Latham.  She  is  truly  an 
artist;  and  I  was  surprised,  although  I  had  alread^^ 
heard  of  her  power  from — Colonel  White !  " 

The  quietly  courteous  speech  ignored  all  previous 
knowledge  of  his  family.  But  the  name  she  used 
brought  up  the  ribbon — ^the  cripple's  story — the  mid- 
night figure  in  white,  so  vividly  that  they  seared 
into  his  now  hotbrain.  And  the  cold, impassive  face 
of  the  woman  before  him — so  contrasting  with  that 
of  the  generous,  impulsive  girl  of  his  past — contrast- 
ing still  more  with  the  fever  of  regret,  longing  and 
injured  pride,  now  raging  within  him — swept  away 
the  last  remnants  of  his  self-possession : 

"You  insist  that  we  are  strangers !  "  in  low,  rapid 
tones,  tremulous  with  deep  passion.  "So  be  it!  I 
have  yielded  long-  since — with  what  grace  I  might — 
to  a  prior  feeling!"  He  paused;  but  the  woman 
made  no  movement  to  reply.  Then,  reckless  and 
under  sway  of  his  mixed  emotions,  he  blundered  on: 
"It  must  be  delightful  to  meet  your  old  admirers,  so 
conveniently  situated  here!  You  must  enjoy 
renewal  of  such  old  affaires,  as  were  not  '  for  three 
years,  or  the  war ! '  " 

"You  must  pardon  my  dullness,"  was  the  per- 
fectly calm  reply,  "but  I  do  not  understand  you!  " 


308  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"Indeed?  Then  the  dullness  must  be  mine,"  he 
retorted,  hotly.  "Or,  abroad  perhaps  you  studied 
with  Delsarte,  too ;  acting,  as  well  as  music !  " 

"I  have  never  studied  double  entendre,  Colonel 
Latham,"  she  answered,  coldly,  but  decisively.  "If 
3'our  words  are  meant  to  cover  some  taunt,  I  repeat 
I  do  not  understand  you !  " 

"Curiosity  is  a  woman's  weakness,  they  say,"  he 
went  on  angrily,  "but  I  confess  to  it  now!  Would 
you  consider  it  indiscreet  did  I  ask  when,  and  where, 
you  first  met  Colonel  White?  " 

"I  should  not;  merely  rather  curious,"  she 
answered.  "I  met  him  first  at  Mrs.  Craig's,  in 
Georgetown,  two  weeks  ago." 

"  For  the  first  time?  "  His  eyes  were  blazing  into 
hers. 

The  grand  shoulders,  gleaming  white  above  her 
loTv  corsage,  moved  with  an  almost  imperceptible 
shrug,  but  she  bowed  her  stately  head  gravely,  as 
she  replied : 

"I  said  so.  Colonel  Latham;  for  the  first  time. 
And  now,  if  mj'  examination  is — " 

But  he  broke  in,  heedless  now  of  all  but  his  own 
overmastering  thought : 

"Then,  how  did  he  carry  through  the  war  a  sou- 
venir you  gave  him  ?  " 

"After  my  reply,  your  question  is  scarcely  a  courte- 
ous one,"  she  said,  slowly.  "It  is  certainly  wholly 
unfounded  on  fact !  " 

"That  ribbon  of  yours  he  wore!"  the  man  went 
on,  with  unrepressed  passion.  "The  one  we  divided 
at  your  gate— part  of  which  I  have  never  left  out  of 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  309 

my  keeping  one  instant  since !  He  thrust  his  hand  in 
his  breast,  drawing  out  the  locket.  "Where  is  the 
other  half  of  this?" 

At  his  act,  a  strange  smile  came  to  the  girl's  lips, 
that  had  more  of  yearning  pity  than  of  anger  in  it ; 
and  the  eyes  she  fastened  upon  that  faded  knot, 
which  her  own  fingers  had  tied  there — were  moist 
with  membry  and  something  tenderer  far.  But  the 
man  was  blind  to  all  save  his  own  suspicion;  deaf  to 
all  but  the  words,  and  not  the  meaning,  when  she 
answered  in  low  and  gentle  voice : 

"Were  not  everj^thing  between  us  so  very  strange, 
now — your  question  might  seem  so  strange,  that  I 
might  \vell  decline  to  answer!  But  why  should  I, 
when  the  answer  is  so  simple?  " 

She  half  turned  from  him  and — quickly  carrj-ing 
her  hand  to  her  bosom — held  out  the  ribbon. 

Eagerly,  wide-eyed  with  amaze, — his  cheeks  burn- 
ing with  shame  and  contrition, — Beverly  Latham 
leaned  forward  and  examined  the  well-remembered 
fragment.  His  glance — moving  from  it  to  the  one  he 
held — noted  each  fray  and  zig-zag  of  the  ends,  severed 
by  his  knife.  For  an  instant  he  stood,  as  one  dazed ; 
then  joy  and  triumph  began  to  brighten  in  his  eyes. 
The  next,  they  hardened  to  a  scowl  again  and  he 
half-gasped : 

"Then  it  was  not  he — but  the  other  one — that 
night!" 

Jen  Freemun  turned  quickly  on  him,  drawn  up  to 
her  full  height,  her  head  raised  proudly. 

"Colonel  Latham,"  she  said,  very  coldly,  "I  said 


310  'JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

just  now  that  I  did  not  understand  you.     This  time^ 
I  hope  that  I  do  not !  " 

"Answer  me  once  more!"  he  went  on,  as  thousfh 
not  hearing  her ;  his  voice  half  taunt — half  obsecra- 
tion. "Tell  nie  why  3'ou  went  to  Europe!  Why 
you  left  your  father  and  your  home,  after  swearing 
that  3'ou  would  not !  " 

A  shade  swept  over  the  woman's  face,  and  her  lips 
pressed  firmly  together.  Once  or  twice  her  bosom 
rose  and  fell,  as  to  break  unbearable  restraint  of  her 
corsage.  But  the  struggle  \vas  over  in  a  moment; 
for  she  answered  quietly: 

"I  left  home  at  papa's  urgence:  because  he  willed 
it  so!" 

"And  for — nothing- the?  "  he  asked  quickly. 
A  deep,  red  disc  rose  to  either  cheek  and  stood 
there;  but  she  looked   full  into  his  hot,  suspicious 
eves,  as  she  said  slowlv : 

"I  have  answered  strange  questions  honestly,  Col- 
onel Latham,  because  of  old  acquaintance.  I  should 
not  have  answered,  had  I  dreamed  they  were 
inspired  by  anything  you  could  possibly  have  heard 
of  me — and  believed  !  " 

"And  if  I  did  hear,  without  seeking — " 
She  stopped  him ;  this  time  with   an  imperious 
gesture — the  red  discs  growing  on  her  cheeks — her 
bosom  heaving  unrestrained : 

"Stop,  sir!  /have  asked  no  confessions  from  joul 
I  will  hear  none !  It  is  equally  indifferent  to  me  what 
you  have  believed — what  heard  !  " 

"But,  if  I  not  onh'  heard, ^^  he  answered  with  a 
half  grroan.     "If  I  saw — with  mv  own  eves!    You 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  311 

remember  that  midnight,  when  you  went  stealthily 
— quietly — to  meet — " 

"Beverly  Latham,  I  pity  you!"  The  woman's 
voice  cut  into  his  wild  utterance,  low  and  slow ;  but 
the  command  in  it  silenced  him.  "  From  a  stranger, 
such  doubts,  and  so  expressed,  would  be  coarse  inso- 
lence! From  a  Southern  officer  to  a  Southern 
w^oman  they  are  the  insult  of— a  coward !  Good- 
night, Colonel  Latham! " 

She  turned  her  back  full  on  him ;  moving  slowly 
away,  between  the  ranged  plants.  The  man  — 
crushed  more  by  his  own  conflicting  passions,  than 
by  her  words — followed  her  only  with  his  blazing 
eyes ;  standing  motionless,  rooted  to  the  spot.  But 
those  eyes  did  not  see  the  slender  hand  close  over  the 
frail  fan,  snapping  it  as  an  eggshell. 

But — clearly  sweet  as  a  bell-chime  at  midnight, 
Latham  heard  the  soft  society  voice  replace  the  late 
indignant  surge,  as  she  met  someone,  and  said : 

"Were  you  coming  for  me.  Colonel  White? — 
Thanks,  I  am  readj^ !  " 


CHAPTER     XXV. 

A  SUDDEN   COUP. 

To  the  three  days  succeeding  Mrs.  Dent's  ball,  Bev- 
erly Latham  ever  looked  back  as  the  most  miserable 
ones  of  his  life.  Drunken  with  passion,  doubt  and 
jealousy — as  he  too  late  confessed  to  himseh— he  had 
spoken  his  first  unmanly  word  to  a  woman ;  and  he 
despised  himself  thoroughly  for  it,  though  thought 
only  added  confusion  to  his  brain.  Not  once  did  he 
doubt  that  there  were  grounds  for  his  suspicion ;  for 
belief  born  of  that  error  on  his  midnight  watch,  and 
of  the  old  cripple's  report.  He  had  convinced  him- 
self now  of  Jen's  double  flirtations,  as  completely  as 
she  had  long  ago  believed  he  had  trifled  with  her. 
And  between  these  two  errors,  now  yawned  a  gulf 
that  never  coidd  be  bridged.  But  one  thing  Latham 
felt  due  to  himself,  no  less  than  to  her  sex — lightly 
as  she  might  have  held  its  best  prerogatives ;  and  he 
had  promptly  despatched  a  note  of  regret  for  the 
manner  of  his  speech.  It  had  no  sorrow  for  the 
doubts  he  had  expressed,  no  retraction  of  the  charges 
made;  but  merely  hoped  that  "Miss  Freeman  could 
forgive  and  forget  the  only  occasion  when  he  had 
overlooked  w^hat  w^as  due  to  any  v^oman." 

312 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  313 

The  same  messenger  brought  two  Hnes  of  reph^: 

"  Miss  Freeman  might  forgive  errors  of  ignorance, 
T3ut  her  memory  is  as  good  as  Colonel  Latham's; 
and  she  hopes,  always  founded  upon  facts." 

But,  having  sent  this,  the  woman  shut  the  matter 
up  in  her  own  heart,  along  with  fragments  of  broken 
hope,  memory  and  bitter  sorrow  ;  breathing  no  word 
of  the  chance  meeting  to  Mrs.  Craig,  and  going  on 
Tier  round  of  visits,  dinners  and  balls  with  the  same 
grace  and  the  same  apparent  pleasure  that  had 
marked  her  brief  career  of  belleship  at  the  capital. 

But  Latham  walked  through  pressing  round  of 
duty,  as  a  man  in  a  dream  ;  kept  punctually  engage- 
ments involving  safety  or  ruin  to  others  and  great 
interests  to  himself;  filing  and  explaining  papers 
with  direct  business  tact.  But  still,  permeating  all 
his  busv  hours,  and  monopolizing  those  he  should 
have  given  to  Stella,  or  to  rest,  stalked  the  ghost  of 
a  dead  past,  led  through  the  inferno  of  the  present 
by  the  hand  of  a  hopeless  shade  of  his  own  raising. 

Pleading  business  as  excuse  for  refusing  invitations 
s.nd  absenting  himself  from  home,  he  had  scarcely 
seen  Stella  in  the  interim.  But,  on  that  third  morn- 
ing she  came  to  him — affectionate,  considerate  about 
liis  overworking,  and  prettily  saucy  as  ever — but 
vt^th  a  nervousness  he  could  not  comprehend,  until 
she  suddenW  said : 

"I  wish  to  go  back  home,  bud,  at  once!  How 
soon  can  3'ou  go  ?  " 

"To-night,  I  hope!  "  he  answered.  "God  knows  I 
am  sick  of  this  city,  with  its  shams  and  disappoint- 
ments." 


314  JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST. 

"I  am  so  glad,  bud!  I  want  to  get  back  to  our 
own  roof — to  mamma.  I  have  not  breathed  one 
word  to  Betty ;  but ' ' —  a  vivid  blush  overspread  her 
fine  face — "last  night  Colonel  White  told  me  that — " 

"And  you  accepted  him!  "  he  cried,  suddenly. 

"No  Latham  ever  accepted  a  suitor  save  under 
her  own  roof,"  she  answered,  haughtily.  "Colonel 
Latham  must  forget  that  I  am  his  mother's  daugh- 
ter !  No,  bud,  I  have  not  accepted  him ;  but  Colonel 
White  will  come  home  at  once" — she  looked  bravely 
at  him  now;  a  soft  glory  on  her  face — "to  get  that 
answer  his  own  heart  must  have  had  from  mine!  " 

"But  you  do  not  know  this  man,  Stella!  " 

"I  know  that  you  presented  him  to  me,"  she 
answered,  quietly.  "I  know  he  has  famih%  noble 
character,  position  and  a  gallant  record!  W^hat 
more  need  I  seek  to  kno\v  ?  " 

"Nothing,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  perplexed.  "But 
his  past  —  his  previous  love  affairs  ?  " 

"He    has    had    none,"   she    retorted,   confidently, 
"Since  his  boyish  follies,  I  am  the  only  v^oman  he  has' 
loved." 

"i7e  told  you  this?" 

"  He  did,  last  night.    And  I — believe  him ! " 

"We  will  go  back  home,  to-night,  sister,"  he 
answered  solemnly,  as  he  kissed  her  flushed  brow, 
"We  will  discuss  this  at  home." 

"Of  course,  I  shall  discuss  it — with  mamma,"  she 
answered,  calmly.  "But,  Bev.,  I  am  a  Latham,  and 
my  mind  is  made  up." 

"You  are  a  woman,  and  mj^  elder  sister,"  he  said, 
trying  to  smile.     But  there  was  a  chill  at  his  heart, 


JOHN    HOLDEX,   UNIONIST.  315 

lest  the  shadow  of  his  own  dark  suspicion  must  fall 
across  her  bright  way. 

But  had  Jen  spoken  trul^^  ?  Was  it  not  really  White 
whom  she  had  met  at  the  gate,  that  night  ?  If  not, 
how  had  he  later  got  that  ribbon,  in  the  hot  race  from 
Forrest?  And  she  had  it,  on  her  own  heart  at  the 
ball—  Suddenly  he  recalled  that  she  had  ridden 
with  White  that  very  evening !  Despising  himself  for 
it,  he  listened  as  the  shade  that  tormented  him  drew 
nearer,  whispering  that  the  man  and  girl  boldl}^  and 
openly  kept  up  the  old  affair;  that,  with  another's 
kisses  on  his  lips,  he  had  lied  to  a  daughter  of  the 
Lathams  I  His  hand  clinched  at  thought  of  such 
insult ;  but,  inconsistent  as  man  ever  is — he  forgot 
another  insult,  graver  and  more  gross,  given  to  the 
woman  he  himself  had  twice  sworn  he  loved  above 
all  others !     But  he  kept  silent ;  only  adding : 

"Yes,  sister;  we  will  go  home  to-night." 
But,  as  "man  proposes,"  there  is  somewhat  of 
truth  in  the  cynical  French  turn   of  the  proverlD : 
^'Mais,  le  diahle  dispose — quelquefois  /" 

As  Latham  left  the  house,  a  messenger  handed  him 
a  brief  note  from  the  Department  of  Justice,  in  which 
the  judge  courteoush'  asked  "the  favor  of  his  pres- 
ence, at  noon,"  that  day.  Sending  a  verbal  reply, 
and  wondering  what  new  devilry  was  up  now,  he 
hastened  through  other  business  and  was  prompt  to 
the  minute.  He  ^^as  greeted  with  effusive  courtesy, 
foreign  usually  to  the  cold  and  contained  chief,  who 
introduced : 

' '  Mr.  Screws — of  Middletown  &  Screws,  New  York ; 
our  friend.  Colonel  Latham,  of  Virginia." 


316  JOHN    HOI.DEN,    UNIONIST. 

The  titles — colonel  and  friend,  equally — made 
Latham  stare ;  for  the  official  had  always  studiously 
emphasized  the  Mr.,  before  that  moment. 

"I  sent  for  you  on  a  matter  of  no  moment  to  your- 
self. Colonel  Latham,"  the  judge  said.  "But  your 
unselfish  work  for  others  emboldened  me.  You  told 
me  lately  that  you  knew,  and  could  vouch  for,  Mr. 
Philip  Freeman,  of  Alabama." 

"I  believe  I  did,"  Latham  replied;  thinking  rather 
of  daughter  than  of  sire.  "What  possible  charge 
can  be  laid  against  that  poor  old  man?  " 

"He  is  not  a  'poor'  old  man,  Colonel  Latham;  if 
you  can  assist  us — ahem ! — if  you  can  disprove  these 
charges,  but  will  be  a  very  rich  one!"  Mr.  Screws 
put  in  glibly. 

Messrs.  Middletown  &  Screws  were  early  speci- 
mens of  that  species  known  as  "the  promoter;  "  the 
fungus  growth  of  which  later  ran,  like  wiregrass, 
through  Southern  soil,  wherever  its  promise  of  min- 
eral, timber  or  agricultural  wealth  was  sufficient  to 
pay  the  middleman;  \vherever  its  waste  places  were 
possible  to  make  blossom  like  the  bay,  with  rail- 
way's, parks  and  cities — on  paper.  So  Mr.  Screws 
turned  over  the  phrase,  as  succulent : 

"Yes,  a  very  rich  one.  Our  firm  has  almost  closed 
a  sale  and  partnership  in  mineral  lands  with — ahem  ! 
— with  parties  in  interest,  which  will  make  Mr. 
Freeman  a  very  rich  man,  unless — " 

"The  charges  are  serious  ones,"  the  judge  broke  in, 
wnth  a  Avarning  glance  at  the  speaker.  "The\^  are 
in  form  and  writing,  alleging  that  Philip  Freeman  is 
the  head  of  the  Ku-Klux  Klan,  of  his  section!  " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  317 

Latham  smiled  in  spite  of  the  judge's  tone,  at  the 
suggestion  of  Farmer  Freeman  wild  careering  at 
the  head  of  his  black-masked  riders ;  but  he  said : 

''These  charges  are  so  supremely  absurd — so  abso- 
lutely impossible — that  I  would  pledge  m}-  life  on 
their  falsity !     Ma}^  I  see  them —  " 

"Certainh',"  Mr.  Screws  broke  in  with  his  chipper 
fashion,  reaching  for  a  file  on  the  desk.  But  again 
the  chief  checked  him  by  a  look,  as  a  clerk  entered 
and  handed  him  a  card. 

"One  moment,  please,"  he  said  to  Mr.  Screws. 
"McFadden,  admit  Mr.  Freeman." 

Next  moment  the  old  Alabamian  had  entered  the 
room;  cool,  quiet  and  sturdy  as  of  yore  but,  Latham 
saw,  with  more  puckers  pinched  into  his  face  by 
Time's  fingers.  Ignoring  the  presence  of  all  else,  he 
advanced  frankly  to  Latham  and  held  out  his  hand, 
as  he  cried : 

"Well,  I  am  glad  to  see  you,  leftenant !  It's  sev- 
eral years  since  we  met,  but  I  never  forget  friends. 
Jen's  here,  visiting  her  aunt,  Mrs.  Craig.  Have  \'OU 
met?" 

Latham  took  the  proffered  hand  with  some  con- 
straint, repK-ing  that  he  had  met  Miss  Freeman  for  a 
moment  only ;  but  the  judge  made  a  memorandum 
of  Mrs.  Craig's  name  on  his  pad,  as  he  said : 

"You  are  Mr.  Philip  Freeman,  of  Alabama?  Be 
seated,  sir.    You  know  Mr.  Screws,  perhaps?" 

"I  should  say  I  do,  judge!"  the  farmer  replied 
bluntly.  "And  I  guess  I  ought  to  know  you,  too,  if 
the  report  was — " 


318  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"The  question  now  in  point,"  the  great  man  broke 
in  hastily,  touching  his  gong  as  he  spoke,  "is  a 
more  serious  one.  McFadden,  was  Mr.  John  Holden 
summoned  for  noon  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir;  he  was  ill,"  the  clerk  replied.  "But  he 
sent  word  that  he  would  come,  if — a — " 

"Well,  sir!    If  what?"  the  judge  demanded,  curtly. 

"If^a — *  if  hell  froze  over,'  sir,  was  his   message!" 

"Very  well,  McFadden,  that  will  do!  Send  him  in 
as  soon  as  he  arrives." 

The  clerk  withdrew^  and,  almost  immediateU',  John 
Holden's  tall  form  filled  thedoorwav.  Butastran2:e 
change  had  come  over  the  grim  old  man.  His  keen 
green  eyes  seemed  dulled,  and  their  bushy  brows 
contracted,  as  though  from  pain;  the  long,  firm 
underjaw — grish^  and  unshaven — set  hard  against 
its  fellow;  and  the  great  chest  heaved  irregularly. 
He  gazed  at  the  unexpected  forms  of  Freeman  and 
Latham,  with  e^'cs  that  had  the  ugly  gleam  of  the 
owl's  at  dusk ;  but  suddenly  one  great  hand  went  to 
his  side,  and  the  other  clutched  the  door  frame  for 
support. 

"I  regret  to  learn  of  your  illness.  Air.  Holden,"  the 
judge  said.  "But,  as  it  was  essential  to  consider 
your  charges  prompth%  I  sent  for  you." 

"I  hain't  complainin',  be  I?"  Holden  answered 
grimly,  sinking  heavily  into  a  seat.  "I  hez  stud 
more'n  thet,  fur  ther  flag,  fur  fo'  long  year.  I'm  yere 
now,  ter  test'  'gin  thet  pizen  rebul  thar,  hain't  I  ?  " 

Half  rising.  Freeman  was  about  to  reph^;  but 
Latham — noting  his  movement  and  his  angry  flush 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  319 

— leaned  over,  whispered  hastily  to  him,  and  added 
aloiid  : 

"May  we  now  examine  those  papers,  judge? " 

"Certainly.  They  are  very  plain  and  —  ahem! — 
emphatic !  "  Mr.  Screws  said,  handing  them  over,  at 
a  quiet  sign  from  the  chief. 

"An'  tha's  true,  fus'  an'  las' !  "  Holden  growled. 

"That  is  fortunate,  perhaps,'^  the  jtidge  replied, 
drily.'  "It  will  simplify  matters.  Your  proofs,  of 
course,  will  be  forthcoming?  " 

"I  ben't  no  fool,  be  I?"  was  the  answer.  "Ef  I 
needs  time  ter  riz  ther  witnisses,  'tain't  no  doin'  oy 
mine,  be  it?  " 

"Well,  I  telegraphed  Mr.  Freeman  to  come  at 
once,"  Mr.  Screws  said,  hastily.  "As  soon  as  I  was 
notified — ahem  ! — heard  of  the  charges,  I  wired.  It 
is  essential  to  heavy  interests  to  close  certain  trans- 
actions, at  once.  The  sooner  this  matter  is  settled, 
the  better." 

"Yes,  Mr.  Holden,"  the  judge  added;  "the  better 
for  all  parties." 

"I  hezn't  nuthin'  ter  add,hez  I?  "  the  mountaineer 
asked.  "I  hez  sed  my  say,  an'  I  'low  I'll  stan' 
ter't!" 

"These  papers  set  forth  that  Mr.  Freeman  organ- 
ized the  Ku-Klux  Klan,  in  the  counties  of  Etowah, 
DeKalb  and  elsewhere,  during  the  past  -winter," 
Latham  said  to  the  judge ;  but  he  turned  sharply : 
"You  can  prove  this,  I  presume,  Mr.  Holden?  " 

"Yer  ben't  a-jedgin'  me,  be  yer?"  the  other 
answered,  with  a  scowl.  "But  I  'low  ez  I  kin  prove 
^11  thet's  writ  down  thar!  " 


320  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

*'ButI  would  submit" — Latham  again  turned  to 
the  chief— "that  these  charges  are  worthless,  void 
and  of  no  effect.  They  state  location,  fact  and 
detail,  but  no  date,  in  any  instance!  " 

"Precisely  what  I  first  pointed  out  when — "  Mr. 
Screws  began  cheerily ;  but  he  caught  the  judge's 
glance  and  stopped  in  mid-sentence.  And  Holden's 
brows  knit  closer,  and  his  face  darkened — whether 
with  pain  or  rage — as  he  turned  on  the  speaker : 

"Yer  be  n't  a-jedgin',  too,  be  yer?  I  'low  ther 
rebuls  seems  ter  hev  all  ther  law,  an'  loil  men  hain't 
no  show! " 

"That  omission.  Colonel  Latham,  while  grave,  is 
not  necessarily  fatal  to  the  charges,"  the  judge  said, 
warily.  "It  might  be  supplied  to  the  allegation, 
under  oath." 

"I  'low  ez  it  kin  be!"  Holden  cried.  "Ther  dates 
is  know'd." 

"Doubtless,"  Latham  said,  quickly.  "For 
instance,  30U  knowr  what  night  Mr.  Freeman  was  at 
Fort  Payne?" 

"And  the  Gadsden  date,  too?  "  Mr.  Screws  added. 

"  But,  gentlemen !  I'll  just  be  darned  if—"  Freeman 
began  angrily ;  but  again  Latham  whispered  to  him 
earnesth^  as  Holden  answered  slowly : 

"He  war  in  Fort  Payne,  or  ther  'bout,  two  night 
afore  Chris'mus;  an' — I  'low  he  war  in  Gadsding — 
ther  nex'  week." 

"You  are  sure  of  that?"  Mr.  Screws  asked. 

"Yer  ben't  tryin'  ter  ketch  me  a  lyin',  be  yer?'^ 
Holden  growled.  "I  'low  John  Holden  don'  'clar^ 
'cep'n  he's  sho' !  " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  321 

"You  comprehend,  Mr.  Holdeu,"  tlie  judge  cau- 
tioned blandly,  "that  what  you  state  now,  you 
must  reaffirm,  under  oath,  at  the  proper  time !  " 

A  strange  shadow  passed  across  the  grim  face  of 
the  mountaineer.  Again  he  pressed  his  hand  hard  to 
his  left  side;  but,  after  a  deep  breath,  he  answered 
doggedly : 

"John  Holden  hain't  never  tuk  but  one  yoath  in 
his  life  ez  he  hezn't  kep' ;  but  now — " 

"But,  I'll  just  be  hanged  if  I — "  Freeman  broke  in 
hotly,  springing  to  his  feet.  But  again  Latham 
restrained  him ;  and  again  Mr.  Screws  spoke, — 
quietly  and  slowly  beyond  his  wont : 

"There  may  be  some  error,  judge,  in  the  persons, 
or  the  dates,  in  these  charges.  I  myself  am  ready  to 
affirm  that  from — "  he  paused;  consulting  letters 
and  memoranda,  from  his  pocket  —  "yes;  from 
December  thirteenth  until  January  tenth,  last,  Mr. 
Freeman  was  not  absent  one  day  from  the  late  rebel 
works,  situated  on  his  lands  far  distant  from  both, 
places  named." 

"He  hain't  provin'  nuthin',  jedge,  be  he?  "  Holden: 
retorted  eagerly.  "I  do  'low  ther  wurd  ov  er  pizen 
rebul  hain't  no  standin'  'gin  ther  say  ov  er  loil 
man! " 

"But  I  myself  can  swear  it!"  Mr.  Screws  said, 
quickly. 

"Thet  don'  mek  no  differ,"  Holden  said,  doggedly. 
"Hit  hain't  nuthin'  'cep'n'  yoath  'gin  j^oath!  " 

"I  must  warn  you,  gentlemen, "  the  judge  said  cau- 
tiously, " that  the  cause  is  not  yet  on  for  trial;  but 


322  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

merely  on  question  whether  it  shall  lie,  or  be  dis- 
missed." 

With  quivering  lips  and  red-gleaming  eyes — but 
hand  still  pressed  to  his  side,  Holden  rose  to  his  feet 
and  glared  upon  his  foes.  Twice  he  strove  to  speak, 
before  he  muttered  hoarsel}^ : 

"Dismist!  Ther  -rebul  are  en  ther  han's  ov  ther 
Lord,  at  las' !    Let  ther  trial  cum !  " 

"I  need  detain  you  no  longer,  gentlemen,"  the 
judge  said,  rising.  "I  will  set  the  formal  trial  for 
to-morrow,  at  noon." 

"One  word  onh%"  Mr.  Screws  said,  blandly.  "I 
omitted  to  mention  that  my  partner,  Mr. 
Middletown,  will  be  here  to  affirm  as  I  do.  Between 
the  dates  I  named  he,  as  well  as  myself—"  he  looked 
full  into  Holden's  fierce  eyes — "w^ere  at  the  w^orks, 
w^ith  Mr.  Freeman! " 

Holden  dropped  into  his  seat  again,  something 
between  a  curse  and  a  groan  breaking  from  him; 
his  eyes  dropped  dully  upon  the  carpet.  Then 
Freeman  strode  one  step  toward  him,  with  raised 
hand.  But  Latham  seized  his  arm,  drew  it  through 
his  own  and  led  him  to  the  corridor,  saying  quietly : 

"You  must  control  yourself,  Mr.  Freeman,  under 
any  provocation.  Perfect  as  your  case  seems,  one 
violent  act  might  ruin  you !  " 

As  he  spoke  they  were  joined  by  Mr.  Screws.  He 
had  merely  leaned  over  the  table  to  replace  the 
paper ;  but  he  said,  very  low : 

"I  may  close  the  purchase  now,  in  perfect  safety?  " 
And  the  judge,  speaking  more  with  eyes  and  lips, 
than  tongue,  had  replied : 


JOHN    HOLDEN,   UNIONIST.  323 

"With  perfect  safety,  assuredly."  Then,  as  Mr. 
Screws  turned  away,  the  judge  glanced  uneasily  at 
Holden:  "I  need  detain  you  no  longer — why,  are 
you  ill?" 

"It  don'  mek  no  differ,  ill  nur  'nuther,"  the 
mountaineer  answered,  in  dull  voice.  But,  with 
evident  effort  he  rose,  drew  a  deep,  gasping  breath, 
and  walked  unsteadily  into  the  ante-room. 

"I  congratulate  you  on  the  changed  aspect  of 
our  case,"  Mr.  Screws  was  saying  in  his  most 
chipper  style,  as  he  overtook  the  pair  at  the  stair- 
way. "I  will  telegraph  for  my  principals,  draw  up 
the  papers  for  signature ;  and  to-morrow  afternoon 
vsrill  see  jou,  Mr.  Freeman,  the  very  richest  man  in 
your  section! " 

A  growl  like  that  of  a  baffled  wild  beast  sounded 
close  behind  the  speaker;  and  the  head  of  John 
Holden  towered  over  him,  its  dull  eyes  gleaming 
hate  upon  the  men  beyond.  But  the  promoter 
passed  hastily  down  the  steps,  and  beyond  hearing 
of  the  words : 

"  Yer  ben't  'shamed,  Phil  Freeman,  be  yer,  ter  use 
with  ther  man  ez  hez  ther  w^rong  ov  yer  ?  Et  do  n' 
mek  no  differ,  do  it,  s'long  ez  yer  sells  yer  Ian',  ef  yer 
sells  ther  name  ov  yer  gell,  long  ov  it  ?  " 

"You  old  scoundrel!  How  dare  you!"  Freeman 
cried,  starting  toward  Holden;  but  as  Latham 
dragged  him  back,  he  went  on  fiercely:  "You  lying 
traitor!  I  half  suspected  you  started  those  vile 
rumors  about — " 

"I  hezn't  need'd  ter  start  nuthin,  hez  I?"  Holden 
retorted,  but  seeming  to  speak  w^ith  effort  and  pain. 


324  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"Et  war  n't  need  ter  start  wot  all  folk,  'cep'n'  ye, 
cud  see  oy  ther  own  eves !  Ef  yer  gell  hezn't  met  no 
men  ov  nights — ef  she  hezn't  rid  'long  oy  'em,  on 
ther  same  critter — axe  thet  uther  rebul,  ef  John 
Holden  be  a-lyin' !  " 

Amazed — stunned  by  sudden  wording  of  doubts 
and  dread  half-sleeping  for  years — Freeman  let  his 
hands  drop  at  his  sides  helplessly,  as  he  cried : 

"Latham,  for  God's  sake,  speak!  Say  this 
slanderer  lies,  and  let  me  driYC  his  words — " 

But  Latham,  pale  and  grave — with  a  world  of 
grief  and  pit^^  in  his  voice — stopped  him  : 

"You  must  control  yourself!  This  is  no  time,  nor 
place.  One  chance  w^ord  overheard,  might  spread 
these  hideous  rumors  to  public  ears.  She  is  the 
proper  one  to  explain  to  you ;  there  can  be  nothing 
known  to  me,  which  she  will  not  confirm !  " 

Even  as  he  spoke,  he  urged  the  unresisting  farmer 
down  the  steps  to  the  sharp  turn  at  the  landing 
below.  But  he  answered  no  word ;  his  gray  head 
bowed  upon  his  breast,  his  firm  step  grown  unsteady. 
At  the  turning  he  raised  his  face,  gray  and  drawn 
as  with  great  age;  the  eyes  dulled  and  dazed  as 
though  under  stroke  of  a  murderous  bludgeon.  The 
trembling  lips  could  form  no  words ;  and,  filled  ^vith 
pity  unspeakable,  Latham  saw  two  great  tears  roll 
down  the  drawn  cheeks. 

"Go,  Mr.  Freeman!"  he  said.  "I  will  go  wdth 
you!" 

Then  the  Alabamian  made  one  supreme  effort. 
"With  a  shudder,  he  shook  off  Latham's  touch,  drew 
himself  to  full  height  and  said  hoarsel}^ : 


r 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  325 

"I'll  go — to  her!  If  sHe  says  ye  lie,  both  shall 
answer  it  with  blood !  " 

He  moved  down  the  steps,  as  Latham  gazed  after 
him,  with  pity  beyond  words.  But  suddenly,  he 
turned,  rushing  back  toward  Holden,  with  hands 
clinched,  and  eyes  blazing  with  the  old  gladiator  fire 
of  battle. 

"You  lying  traitor!"  he  cried  with  svippressed 
voice.  "You  traitor  to  country  and  race !  I  forgave 
you  for  trying  to  murder  me,  for  spying — for  lying 
about  women !  I  never  guessed,  then,  you  coward 
cur!  Now,  if  you  don't  unsay  your  filthy  words, 
as  God  is  above  us,  I'll  tear  them  out  of  your 
throat!" 

Quickly  and  desperately  as  he  spoke,  his  voice  was 
not  raised ;  but  its  quick  echo  penetrated  rooms  close 
by,  and  some  doors  opened. 

But  Holden — still  leaning  motionless  against  the 
pillar  at  the  stair-head — never  answered  by  word,  or 
sign.  A  strong  contortion  passed  across  his  face; 
the  green-red  eyes  were  dull  and  fireless ;  the  great 
chest  rose  and  fell  quickly.  But  no  sound  came  from 
the  drawn  lips ;  and  the  great  hand — quickly  raised- 
pressed  his  own  side  fiercely. 

"Speak!  you  liar!"  Latham  again  cried.  Intent 
upon  his  quarr\',  he  took  no  note  of  men  advancing ; 
but  drew  back  with  twitching  hands  and  eyes 
blazing  as  the  tiger's,  crouched  to  spring. 

And  then  the  tall  form  before  him  swayed  slightly 
— suddenly  lurched  heavily  sideways ;  and — as  a 
great    pine   uprooted    from   the   cliff's    edge— John 


326  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

Holden  pitched  down  the  stairway,  headlong  and 
striking  the  sharp  stones  as  he  went. 

Hurr\dng  men,  at  the  top,  saw  Latham  rush  down 
the  steps,  bend  over  the  prostrate  man,  and  turn 
him  on  his  back.  The  lace  was  Hvid  and  the  eyes 
closed;  a  thin,  red  stream  trickling  from  the  broad 
forehead,  across  the  pinched  features. 

"He  is  badly  hurt!"  Latham  called  to  the  others 
clustering  around.  "Don't  stand  gaping  there! 
Call  a  doctor — and  a  cab !  " 

And  they  quickly  obej^ed  the  accent  of  habitual 
command. 


CHAPTER   XXVI. 
"hank  hez  ther  right!  " 

On  his  narrow  bed,  in  the  dingy  room  of  a  cheap 
boarding-house  of  the  "Northern  Liberties,"  lay 
stretched  the  lank,  muscular  frame  of  John  Holden. 
But  it  might  have  been  a  corpse — save  for  the  short, 
irregular  breathing — so  motionless  were  the  gaunt, 
powerful  limbs,  so  nerveless  lay  the  great,  brown  fin- 
gers on  the  coverlet,  in  the  light  of  the  low  turned 
lamp. 

By  the  bedside  sat  the  doctor,  occasionally  feeling 
the  pulse ;  or  turning  the  cover  from  the  broad,  hir- 
sute breast,  to  bend  his  ear  for  pulsations  of  the 
heart.  And  opposite  him  stood  Beverly  Latham, 
looking  gravely  down  upon  the  stricken  giant. 

"Pulse  very  little  stronger,  but  more  regular; 
heart  beginning  to  act  under  the  digitalis,"  the  man 
of  medicine  said,  replacing  the  cover  and  returning 
his  watch  to  its  fob.  "Rather  a  bad  case,  but  he  ma^^ 
pull  through,  this  time.  He  must  have  the  constitu- 
tion of  an  ox  in  that  frame." 

" Is  it  concussion  of  the  brain?"  Latham  asked, 
with  singular  anxiety. 

"Not  a  symptom,"  the  doctor  replied  confidently. 
"The  fall  did  not  hurt  much ;    that  cut  on    the  fore- 


328  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

head  is  but  skin  deep.  The  trouble  seems  with 
his  heart,  and  of  long  standing.  Is  he  subject  to 
these  turns?  " 

"I  have  no  idea,"  the  Virginian  said.  "  The  man  is 
almost  a  stranger  to  me ;  1  only  saw  him  twice,  years 
ago.  It  was  accident"  —  he  answered  the  other's 
look  of  surprise — "that  I  happened  there,  at  the 
time.  The  clerks  lost  their  heads;  and  common 
humanity  suggested  a  doctor  and  a  cab.  Besides,  I 
wished  to  question  him,  if  he  was  not  killed.  Will  he 
get  well?" 

" He  will  never  be  well."  The  doctor  shook  his 
head  sagel}^  "He  may  get  up  again,  and  last  for 
months.  Much  depends  on  the  brain.  I  cannot 
diagnose  that,  while  his  stupor  lasts.  But  he  is  apt 
to  revive  partly,  even  if  the  stroke  be  fatal." 

"Will  he  be  conscious?"  Latham  again  asked, 
earnestly.     "Able  to  answer  questions?" 

"  Most  probably ;  if  it  be  only  the  heart,  and  not 
the  brain  involved.  I  hope  to  find  him  better  when 
I  come  in  the  morning.     Good-night." 

Left  alone,  Latham  still  stood  long  and  thought- 
fully, gazing  down  on  his  now  helpless  enemy ;  mem- 
ory moving  a  vivid-pictured  panorama  across  his 
brain.  And  its  every  scene — mountain  ride,  quiet 
convalescence,  hot  charge  of  battle  or  perfumed  glare 
of  ball-room — showed  out  two  figures,  clear  and 
sharp;  two  figures  so  different — yet  so  strangely 
bound  together ;  a  sweet  faced,  stately  woman  and 
this  grim  old  mountaineer.  Through  every  phase  of 
his  fateful  acquaintance  with  Jen  Freeman — to  its 
very    end,  in    Mrs.   Dent's    conservatory — Latham 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  329 

re-lived  the  past ;  and  thinking  as  intently  and  as 
bitterly  as  he  did,  still  came  wonder  at  the  strange 
fatality  that  linked  her  for  evil  report  or  fair,  with 
this  man,  whose  tongue  might  already  be  silenced 
forever  by  the  All-wise  Hand. 

Were  it  best  for  this  to  be  so  ?  he  asked  himself. 
Or  might  those  still  lips — did  they  speak,  and  truly — 
•clear  away  the  doubts  that  hung  over  her,  whom  he 
could  not  tear  from  his  heart, — even  while  that 
heart  cried  aloud  that  she  deserved  no  place  in  it? 

But  at  last  thought  wearied,  and  he  grew  restless 
and  impatient.  For  the  sick  man  lay  motionless; 
only  the  fitful  breathing  telling  of  wrestle  of  the  iron 
constitution  and  its  foe  unseen.  He  turned  to  grasp 
the  bell  rope,  when  a  faint  murmur  came  from 
Holden's  lips;  and  bending  anxiously  over  him, 
Latham  caught  the  gasps : 

"Yes,  Hank! — Et  war  all  'long  ov  my  yoath. 
Yer  hez  ther  right ! — Yer  paw'll  do't,  sho  !  " 

The  great,  limp  hand  essayed  to  reach  out,  its  fin- 
gers twitching  convulsively ;  then  the  heavy  lids  un- 
closed and  the  dulled  ej-es  stared  upward  an  instant. 
But  they  closed  again;  and,  with  a  deeper  breath, 
the  man  seemed  to  sleep.  The  watcher  promptly 
raised  the  heavy  head  and,  dropping  some  fluid  in  a 
glass,  poured  it  between  the  still  lips.  Holden  lay 
quiet  awhile;  then  opened  his  eyes  heavily  again, 
murmuring : 

"He  be  n't  gone,  be  he?    Whar's  Hank?  " 

"Hush;  you  must  not  talk,"  Latham  answered 
quietly.     * '  Try  to  sleep ! ' ' 


330  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

But  strong  will  mastered  matter ;  and  with  fruit- 
less effort  to  rise  to  his  elbow,  Holden  felt  feebly 
along  the  coverlet,  searching  for  something. 

"Hank  war  a-settin' yan,  a-talkin'  ter  his  paw,"' 
he  moaned.    "He  'low'd  ez  I  hed n't  ther  right  wen — " 

Again  the  eyes  closed  heavily,  as  the  feeble  breath 
seemed  to  flicker  and  cease. 

Latham  took  the  long,  muscular  arm,  anxiously 
touching  the  pulse  and  feeling  for  the  heart  beats. 

"Do  not  talk;  you  must  rest!"  he  said,  not 
unkindly.  But  again  the  e3^es  opened ;  staring  dully 
past  him,  as  in  effort  at  memory, 

"He  'low'd  ez  I  hedn't  orter  shot  yer,  at  ther 
dancin',"  he  gasped ;  and,  as  in  a  lightning  flash,  the 
listener  saw  the  log  cabin,  the  shoeless  dancers  and 
his  own  attempted  murder.  "Hank  'low'd  Lize  hed 
ther  right,  wen  she  sed  yer  w^ar  a-friendin'  him — thet 
ther  gell  war  a-doin'  her  bes'  fur  Lize — wen — I  lied, 
'bout  her!" 

There  was  a  long,  dead  pause.  In  it  Latham  could 
almost  hear  the  thumping  of  his  own  heart,  above 
the  feeble  gasps  of  the  sufferer.  Twice  he  essayed  to- 
caution  the  other  to  silence ;  twice  anxious  curiosity 
held  the  caution  on  his  lips.  What  were  this  man's 
health — his  life  even! — weighed  against  a  woman's, 
reputation?  So  he  only  listened  eagerly' until  Holden 
spoke  again, 

"But  yer  pa^v  war  doin'  ther  Lord's  work.  Hank, 
wen  he  lied  'gin  ther  sesesh!  Ef  he  cud  n't  shoot  fur 
ye,  boy,  yer  paw  cud  kill  'nuther  way  !  Hang  John 
Holden  fur  thet?  He  war  in  ther  Lord's  han'  an'  he 
hain't  heng,  hez  he?"    He  struggled  to  his  elbow^ 


JOHiN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  331 

raising  his  right  hand  feebly;  but  it  fell  to  his  side 
and  he  sunk  back  on  his  pillow. 

Latham  poured  some  brandy  in  a  glass,  holding  it 
to  the  other's  lips ;  but  he  clinched  his  teeth,  splutter- 
ing: 

"I  hezn't  techt  it  sence  she  lef  me;  and  she'd 
know't  soon,  wen  I  jine  her  yan  !  Cum  'long,  Hank ; 
yer  maw's  a-callin'  fur  we'uns!"  He  was  silent  a 
moment;  moving  his  lips  restlessly.  "Et  don'  mek 
no  differ,  boy.  Yer  paw  war  a-doin'  fur  yer  sake; 
an'  he  hain't  a-fearin,  be  he?  " 

Again  the  eyes  opened  slowly ;  fixing  on  the  man 
beside  him  with  steady  stare. 

"Do  j'-ou  know  me,  Holden?  "  Latham  asked. 
The  man's  brown  hand  passed  feebly  across  his 
brow,  before  he  replied  slowly : 

"I  hain't  like'  ter  furgit, be  I  ?  Cursid  be  ther  war ! 
But  wen  ther  Lord  furgives— "  He  paused  a  while; 
then  went  on :  "I  hain't  never  lied  afore  ther  war!  I 
tole  3^er  thet,  wen  yer  fus'  cum  a-huntin'  Hank  !  An' 
sence,  I  war  druv  ter  lyin'  fur  ther  Lord's  work !  No, 
Hank!" — his  e\'es  turned,  as  though  addressing  a 
palpable  shape— "Yer  paw  knows  yerhez  ther  right! 
He  hain't  a-lyin'  no  mo'.  But  he's  smeart  wearit, 
boy.    He's  a-goin  fur  yer  maw !  " 

With  a  great  gasp,  he  lay  silent;  so  long  and  so 
motionless  that  Latham  feared  his  soul  had  indeed 
fled ;  and,  with  it,  the  secret  from  which  it  so  strug- 
gled to  get  free.  But  the  pulse  still  responded  to  his 
touch ;  again  the  eyes  opened  wide,  as  Holden  gasped 
eagerly : 


332  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"  Whar's  Phil  Freeman  ?  Whar's  ther  gell  ?  "  He 
tried  vainly  to  rise ;  then  moaned :  "Et  don'  mek  no 
differ,  Hank;  tha's  boun'  ter  know  at  ther  jedg- 
ment!" 

Glancing  at  his  watch,  Latham  again  dropped 
digitalis  in  the  glass.  Holden  swallowed  it  mechan- 
ically; seeming  to  sleep,  for  minutes  that  seemed 
hours  to  the  anxious  watcher.  Then  suddenly', 
Holden's  eyes  opened  again  and  he  moaned : 

"Whar's  Freeman  an'  ther  gell?  Hank  'lows  I'm 
boun'  ter  tell  'em  'fore  I  go !  " 

"Do  you  know  what  you  are  asking?"  Latham 
queried,  eagerly.  "Do  you  really  want  to  see 
them?" 

"  Yer  hain't  mistuk,  hez  yer?  "  Holden  whimpered. 
"Bring  'em  yere,  quick!  Ef  I  don'  tell 'em,  Hank'uU 
go  back!" 

Quick  decision  is  part  of  wear's  training.  Latham 
glanced  at  his  w^atch,  prepared  a  dose  of  medicine; 
then  moved  rapidly  down  stairs.  Brief  instruction 
sufficed  to  the  landlady's  husband,  keeping  watch 
in  the  stuffy  dining  room  below.  Then  the  Virginian 
rushed  to  the  street ;  luckily  caught  an  empty  cab ; 
and,  urging  the  driver  to  best  speed,  was  soon  at 
Mrs.  Craig's  door.  To  his  joy,  the  hall  lamp  still 
burned ;  and  his  loud  peal  on  the  bell  was  answered 
by  Mr.  Freeman. 

"You  are  doubtless  surprised,  sir,"  Latham  cried, 
before  the  farmer  could  speak.  "But  Holden  is  ill; 
probabh^  dying.  He  insists  upon  seeing  you  and — 
your  daughter — at  once." 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  33S' 

"I  am  surprised,  leftenant,"  Freeman  answered, 
bluntly.  "  After  this  morning,  I  scarcely  expected  to 
see  you  here.    If  that  old  traitor  has  more  lies — " 

"He  will  speak  truth  now,"  Latham  answered;, 
promptly  stepping  before  the  farmer's  indecision  and 
taking  command.     "  Where  is  Miss  Freeman  ?  " 

"With  Mrs.  Craig,  at  the  Spanish  minister's  ball," 
the  father  answered.  "Leftenant,  I  tried  to  find 
words  to  speak  to  my  child ;  but  when  I  saw  her^ 
to-day,  after  all  these  years — so  changed  and  grand — 
so  full  of  hope  and  joy,  to  see  her  father  again — damn 
it!  sir,  I  couldn't  speak.  She  knows  nothing  of  all 
this ;  and,  were  she  here,  she  shouldn't  go  to  listen  to 
that  old  liar !     Good-night,  sir !  " 

Latham  stood  quietly  in  the  open  door,  though  his 
face  flushed  under  the  old  man's  blunt  speech. 

"Mr.  Freeman,  this  is  no  time  for  false  delicacy," 
he  said  firmly.  "I  believe  Holden  means  to  speak 
the  truth.  It  is  your  duty  to  me — to  your  daughter 
—  to  hear  him.    An  hour  hence  may  be  too  late !  " 

"But  Jen  is  not  here."  The  farmer  hesitated  before 
the  vehement  common  sense  of  the  younger  man. 

"Take  my  cab  and  go  for  her.  Remember,  sir,, 
there  is  no  time  to  w^aste !  " 

"I'll  do  it!"  was  the  abrupt  reply;  and  a  rapid 
drive  back  brought  them  to  the  embassy.  Mr.  Free- 
man entered,  quickly  returning  w^ith  Jen ;  her  gleam- 
ing neck  and  arms,  and  wealth  of  coiled  hair,  scarce 
half  concealed  by  her  light  opera  cloak.  She  gave 
Latham  the  merest  inclination  of  her  haughty  head ; 
and,  as  she  stepped  aside,  her  father  helped  her  into- 
the  cab.    So  he  said : 


'334  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

"The  driver  knows  the  house;  I  will  follow  in 
another  cab,  Mr.  Freeman!" 

"No,  papa!  I  prefer  this — gentleman  to  go  with 
us,"  Jen  said,  quickly.  "  Colonel  Latham  must  hear 
every  word  John  Holden  says  to  me !  " 

Without  one  word,  Latham  mounted  by  the 
driver ;  urging  him  again  to  haste ;  and  the  strangely 
reunited  trio  sped  over  the  asphalt  on  their  strange 
mission. 

Great  was  the  wonder  of  the  landlady's  husband, 
when  the  vision  of  a  beautiful  woman,  in  full  ball 
dress,  met  the  eyes  he  raised  to  the  opening  door. 

Holden  v^^as  sleeping  seemingly,  the  dim  lamp  and 
odor  of  drugs  contrasting  strangely  with  the  bril- 
liant scene  the  woman  had  just  left.  But,  as  Latham 
dismissed  the  watcher,  she  moved  quieth^  to  the  bed- 
side, and  looked  pityingly  down  upon  her  old  enemy. 
A  slight  shudder  moved  her  shapely  shoulders ;  and 
the  flowers  on  her  bosom  shook  with  one  long-drawn 
sigh.  Then  she  slipped  her  gloved  hand  into  her 
father's;  standing  pale  and  quiet,  until  Holden 
moved  again,  muttering.  Then,  his  opening  eyes  fell 
upon  the  woman's  face,  as  though  expecting  to  find 
it  there ;  and  he  spoke,  more  easily  than  before : 

"  Yer  hezn't  'low'd  I  war  gone,  hez  yer?  "  he  said. 
"I  war  waitin'  tell  yer  cum,  Phil  Freeman;  but  I 
want  yer  gell,  too  !  " 

"I  am  here,  Mr.  Holden,"  Jen  said,  quietly;  a  world 
of  pity  in  her  voice,  and  in  the  eyes  that  took  in  all 
that  wreck  of  prideful  power. 

"Yer  ben't  a-foolin',  be^^er?  No;  ther  hain't  no 
voice  like  youm !    Phil  Freeman,  we  'uns  hez  know'd 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  335 

''nuther  nigh  ter  forty  j^ear  Sence  ther  war,  I  hez 
bin  plum  sot  'gin  yer ;  far  I  'low  ez  I  hed  ther  right. 
But  he  war  yere,  jes'  now — Hank  war — " 

"Who?"  Jen  Freeman  glanced  around  involun- 
tarily. 

"Hank,  my  boy.  An'  he  'low'd  ez  I  shud  tell  yer 
thet  I  lied,  a-thinkin'I  war  a-doin  ther  Lord's  work." 

He  dropped  back  on  his  pillow,  panting;  and 
Latham,  seizing  his  wrist  anxioush',  felt  the  pulse 
iilmost  stop.    He  seized  the  glass  of  brandy, 

"  Take  this,  Holden !    You  must !" 
The  grim  invalid  gulped  the  liquor. 

"Et  don' mek  no  differ  now,  do  it?  Thet  be  n't 
a-brekin'  no  yoaths,  w'en  I'm  a-goin'  ter  jine  her! 
I  be  n't  a  Ijdn'  now,  Phil  Freeman;  I  war  'gin  yer  all 
'long.  Wen  Hank  rid  off  ter  jine,  'gin  his  paw's 
wall,  it  war  hard.  W'en  he  'low'd  he  war  sot  ter  go 
back,  thet  war  harder  yit;  an'  w'en  he  war  kilt — " 
He  rose  to  his  elbow,  striving  to  raise  his  right  hand; 
but  fell  back,  gasping  a  moment,  before  he  added: 
"Then  I  swar  mj^yoath  ter  Gawd,  an'kep  't  ther  bes' 
I  cud!     Lizeknow'd't— " 

"She  did!  "  Jen  broke  in.  "She  came  to  warn  me 
the  first  night  you  shot;  that  midnight.  But  Mr. 
Latham  came  and — " 

"Thank  God !— At  last !  "  Even  through  that  sol- 
emn scene,  the  deep  tremor  in  Latham's  voice  fell 
strong  and  solemn  as  a  vow;  and  his  eyes  sought 
hers  with  infinite  pleading  for  pardon  in  them.  But 
Jen  went  on  gravely,  though  her  voice  shook : 

"And  she  told  me  you  led  the  Yankees  to  Mr. 
Latham's  hiding,  the  night  she  walked  with  me  to 


336  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

warn  him!  But  that  is  past,  and  God  forgives 
you!" 

As  she  spoke,  Freeman's  eyes  stared  at  her,  as. 
though  not  hearing  aright ;  but  they  met  Latham's 
— bravel^y  turned  to  him  ;  a  great  hope  in  them  now 
— and  the  father's  arm  stole  about  her,  with  a  ten- 
derness that  paid  her  for  many  a  struggle  gone. 

"I  ble've  He  do  forgi'e  't  all,"  the  sick  man 
answered.  "Et  war  dun  fur  His  work,  w'en  I  war 
blin',  gell!  I  lied  'gin  yer,  w'en  yer  led  Forres'  crost 
ther  crik ;  I  lied  ter  yer  yung  man,  'bout  ther  Yank 
and  ther  Gadsding  boy  a-courtin' !  " 

Again  he  paused  for  breath.  Again  Latham's  eyes 
met  Jen  Freeman's;  but,  this  time,  hers  sought  his. 
And  in  them  was  something  that  made  him  feel  more 
humble  and  more  contrite,  in  the  gleam  of  her  great 
forgiveness ! 

"I'm  near  dun',"  Holden  gasped  more  feebly, 
"I  war  plum  sot,  w'en  I  war  blin'.  W'en  a  man  ar^ 
sot,  he  ar'  sot  all  ter  wunst!  But  Hank  'lows  I 
hain't  got  ther  right — an' — ter  morrer — " 

His  eyes  closed  wearily.  Latham  again  put  the 
brandy  to  his  lips ;  very  gently  now.  But  Holden 
shook  his  head  v^eakly : 

"I  hain't  a-needin'  no  mo'.  But  I  'low  I'm  smeart 
wearit,  an'  I  kin  sleep  quiet,  now." 

He  closed  his  eyes  awhile.  Then  the}--  opened 
wide,  fixed  full  on  Jen's. 

"I  'low  yer  hez  forgi'en  me,  gell!  "  he  said,  softly. 
"An'  yer  hez  ther  right  ter  do  't,  ez  I  war  a-workin*^ 
blin'  fur  ther  Lord !    Gi'e  me  j^er  han',  gell !  " 


JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST.  337 

Feebly  he  reached  out  his  brown,  knotted  left 
hand ;  and  the  girl — impulsively  tearing  the  long  glove 
from  her  rounded  arm — placed  her  slim,  white  fingers 
in  it.  More  feebly  still,  he  strove  to  stretch  his  other 
hand  to  Latham. 

"  Kin  yer  'low  yer  hez  ther  right  ter  gi'e  me  yer 
han',  too,  yung  soljer?  "  he  asked. 

''May  God  forgive  you  as  wholly  as  I  do!" 
Latham  answered  gravely;  and  very  gently  his 
strong  hand  lifted  the  hard  one  of  his  old  foe. 

Then,  with  quick  access  of  strength,  John  Holden 
sat  bolt  upright ;  his  face  calm,  and  his  eyes  glowing 
with  their  old  fire.  And — so  suddenly  that  neither 
man  nor  woman  could  suspect  his  purpose — he 
brought  their  hands  together;  holding  them  close, 
v^ith  fevered  strength,  as  he  spoke,  in  his  old,  deep 
voice : 

"Them  ez  ther  Lord  hez  jined — no  man  shell 
hinder!  " 

As  suddenly  as  he  had  risen,  he  fell  back ;  carrying 
the  soldier's  hand — still  resting  on  the  fair  one 
of  the  girl — close  on  his  heart.  Then  his  grasp 
relaxed;  and,  as  two  buriiing  faces  raised  bravely 
to  each  other,  the  e^^es  of  both  spoke  a  solemn 
"  Amen !  "  to  that  strange  betrothal  sacrament ! 

No  one  broke  the  silence ;  but  two  pairs  of  moist 
eyes  sought  those  of  Philip  Freeman.  They  were 
full  of  tears;  but  the  love  in  them  was  as  of  a  ben- 
ediction. 

"I  hez  dun  ther  Lord's  work  ter  ther  las' !  "  John 
Holden  whispered,  very  low.  "I  be  plum  wearit; 
lem'  me  sleep! " 

22 


33S  JOHN    HOLDEN,    UNIONIST. 

He  closed  his  eyes  quietly,  breathing  as  easily  and 
softly  as  a  child ;  and — when  certain  that  he  slept — 
the  three  moved  to  the  window,  speaking  in  whis- 
pers that  were  full  freighted  with  present  peace  and 
future  hope.  But  still  the  sick  man  slept ;  and — after 
two  hours,  that  had  not  moved  with  leaden  feet  for 
him — Latham  pointed  to  the  east. 

"The  dawn  of  a  new  day,  mj^  darling!"  he  whis- 
pered to  Jen.     "And,  oh  !  what  a  different  day !  " 

"We  are  both  better  for  what  we  have  suffered," 
she  answ^ered,  ^vith  her  e^^es  on  his.  "Truly  Holden 
has  done  the  Lord's  work.    His  ways  are  the  best !  " 

"May  He  forgive,  as  we  do!"  Latham  answered. 
"But,  poor  old  fellow!  I  have  forgotten  his  medi- 
cine!" 

He  dropped  the  liquid  and  moved  softly  to  the  bed- 
side. Very  gently  he  touched  the  forehead  of  the 
quiet  sleeper. 

It  w^as  icy  cold.  The  laboring  heart,  that  was 
"plum  wearit,"  had  ceased  its  work. 

John  Holden  had  gone  "ter  jine"  her — and  Hank! 


THE    END. 


101   |0|   lOI   |0,   lOI   |0|   lOI   lOI   |0|   lOI   |0|   lOI   lOI   lol 

I  lo!  lol  !ol  'ol  lol  lol  lol  loi  lol  lol  lol  lol  lol  Ic 

A  List  of  Books  Selected  From 

THE 

CATAI.OOUE: 

The  Price-McGill  Co., 

PUBLISHERS, 

ST.   PAUL,    NlINTvl. 

Complete  Catalogue  sent  on  application. 


SIX  CENT  SAM'S. 

A  Collection  of  Interesting  Stories, 

By  Julian  Hawthorne. 

Illustrated  with  over  sixty  pen  drawings, 

By  John  Henderson  Garnsey. 


These  stories,  gathered  under  the  general  title  of 
SIX  CENT  SAM'S,  are  in  Hawthorne's  best  vein, 
and  are  high  evidence  of  his  ability  as  a  deft 
character  painter.  They  are  largely  the  result  of 
his  associations  with  Inspector  Byrnes,  the  well 
Known  Vidocq  of  New  Yorlr.,  who  initiated  him 
fully  into  the  mysteries  of  criminal  operations,  and 
gave  him  glimpses  of  life  in  Gotham  which  could 
not  otherwise  have  been  obtained  in  detail  by  the 
author.  Provided  with  this  wealth  of  material, 
Hav^'thorne  has  produced  many  interesting  stories, 
and  none  more  so  than  those  in  this  book,  which 
are  generally  detective  in  character  and  serve  as 
striking  etchings  of  life.  A  good  story  of  mystery 
never  loses  its  interest,  and  in  such  narratives  as 
"The  Model  Murder"  and  others  contained  in  this 
volume  Hawthorne  surpasses  himself  at  every 
point. 


Elegantly  Boiiml  in  Cloth,  12  mo,  $1.25. 


For  sale  at  all  bookstores,  or  sent  post-paid 
upon  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers,  The  Price- 
McGill  Company,  455-473  Cedar  street,  St.  Paul, 
Minnesota. 


Sylvester  Romaine. 

A  Graphic  Story  of  tlie  Times, 

By  Charles  E.  Pelletreau,  B.  D. 


Strongly  Written,  Well  Told,  and  Skil- 
fully Handled. 

"An  admirable  story  illustrating  the  triune  vir- 
tue of  faith,  hope  and  charity."  —  Burlington 
Hawkeje. 

"  *  *  *  Has  an  abundance  of  incident  and 
clever  portraiture  of  character." — San  Francisco 
Chronicle. 

"This  interesting  story  opens  with  a  wreck  at 
sea,  in  which  a  young  couple,  who  are  upon 
their  bridal  tour,  are  engulfed  in  the  tempes- 
tuous waters.  This  is  only  an  introduction  to 
thestirring  events  which  follow." — Toledo  Blade. 
"A  story  of  especial  interest  for  its  study  of 
types." — Boston  Ideas. 


Attractively  Bound  in  Modern  Clotli,  12  mo,  $1.00. 


For  sale  at  all  bookstores,  or  sent  post-paid 
upon  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers,  The  Price- 
McGill  Company,  435-473  Cedar  street,  St.  Paul, 
Minnesota. 


A  CLOSE  SHAVE. 

The  Story  of  a  Trip  Around  the  World, 

By  Thomas  W.  Knox. 

Author  of  "The  Boy  Traveller"  Series. 


"The  adventures  of  Major  Flagg  and  his  compan- 
ions, who  include  two  t3'pical  American  boys,  are 
as  wonderful  as  those  of  Phineas  Fogg.  *  *  *  * 
Boj's  and  even  older  readers  will  follow  the  travel- 
ers with  interest." — Philadelphia  Record. 

"Boys  everywhere  will  welcome  it.  *  *  *  *  It  is 
full  of  thrilling  incident  without  unhealthy  sensa- 
tionalism."— Boston  Traveller. 

"The  journey  is  one  continued  suspense  of  excite- 
ment, during  which  there  are  flashed  upon  the 
travelers  glimpses  of  foreign  lands  and  of  the  v^on- 
derful  appliances  of  modern  travel,  which  w^ill 
afford  entertainment  to  childrenof  larger  growth." 
New  York  Town  Topics. 


Handsome  Cloth,  12  mo,  $1.00. 


For  sale  at  all  bookstores,  or  sent  post-paid 
upon  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers,  The  Price- 
McGill  Company,  455-473  Cedar  street,  St.  Paul, 
Minnesota. 


BROADOAKS. 

An  interesting  Storj  of  the  South 

By  M.  G.  McClelland, 

An  American  Author  whose  PubHc  is 
Large  and  Appreciative  of  Literary 
Talent. 

HANDSOMELY  ILLUSTRATED 

With  ftill  page  drawings  by  Charles 
Edward  Boutwood. 


Fine  Cloth,  12  mo,  $1.00. 


For  sale  at  all  bookstores,  or  sent  post-paid 
upon  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers,  The  Price- 
McGill  Company,  455-473  Cedar  street,  St.  Paul, 
Minnesota. 


HOLIDAY  STORIES. 

Charming  Sketches, 

By  Stephen  Fiske. 


"There  is  not  a  dull  story  in  the  book,  and  the  per- 
son who  starts  on  the  first  will  not  be  satisfied 
until  he  has  finished  the  last." — Boston  Transcript. 

"Whoever  reads  the  first  of  these  stories  will  im- 
mediately proceed  to  devour  the  rest,  and  w^ill  find 
them  all  excellent." — Denver  News. 

"The  stories  are  redolent  of  human  nature  patly 
interpreted  and  we  w^ould  like  to  read  some  more 
of  the  same." — Burlington  Hawlceye. 


Ornaineutal  Cloth,  12  mo,  $1.00. 


For  sale  at  all  bookstores,  or  sent  post-paid 
upon  receipt  of  price,  by  the  publishers,  The  Price- 
McGill  Company,  455-473  Cedar  street,  St.  Paul, 
Minnesota. 


RARE  BOOK 
COLLECTION 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF 

NORTH  CAROLINA 

AT 

CHAPEL  HILL 

Wilroer 
342 


\uy 


